


What the Goddess Gave You

by westernsunset



Category: Tortall - Tamora Pierce
Genre: Angst, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Minor Character Death, Period-Typical Homophobia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-08
Updated: 2018-06-30
Packaged: 2019-01-10 20:49:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 24,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12307494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/westernsunset/pseuds/westernsunset
Summary: “Oh Raoul. Someone wise once told me that you can’t change what the Goddess gave you.”--Raoul is gay and I wrote a lot about it.





	1. The Palace Years

Everyone liked Raoul of Goldenlake. Teachers, nobles, his fellow pages and the nights that passed through the castle were all won over by the young man's friendly demeanor and easy smile. Raoul could soften up the toughest old nobles and win over anyone. Well, anyone except Ralon of Malven and his cronies, but they didn't really count as people in Raoul's eyes. Around court, Gary was known for his intelligence, and Prince Jonathan for his leadership, but Raoul was known because everyone wanted to be his friend.

And that, of course, was what Raoul wanted. He learned at a young age that he would fare better if everyone liked him. Goldenlake was on the border of Tortall, and a rough and tumble place where even Raoul's stature did not prevent him from being a target. Instead of endlessly proving himself through fights, Raoul found it was faster and easier to make sure that everyone, from servants to his fellow nobles, liked him.

Especially since the goodwill he enjoyed helped him keep people at arm's length, if he had to.

When Raoul left Goldenlake to begin his page training at the palace, he thought that the hard work and change of scenery would be enough for him to shut down the thoughts he had about other boys. Thoughts that he knew would get him in trouble if anyone found out about them. Thoughts and ideas that he prayed the Goddess would take away. Years of prayer hadn’t made the thoughts stop, and Raoul hoped that palace life would help.

And it did, for awhile. For most of his first year of page training, Raoul was too tired to think about anything that wasn’t related to his lessons. The academic studies did not come easily to him, and even the training, which he had always been good at, seemed designed to push him to the brink. If Raoul wasn’t trying to finish his homework in between his page duties, he was talking to the other boys about how much work they all had to do, how tired they all were. For several months, it seemed like the thoughts were gone for good, and Raoul would be able to live the life that his father, and everyone else at Goldenlake expected of him.

But as Raoul’s body and mind acclimated to the work, the thoughts returned again. As dreams. He didn’t have them every night, but when he did, he woke up in a sweat, terrified by what the dreams showed him and how much he enjoyed them. He would lay awake for hours, trying to make the thoughts stop, but the harder he tried, the more he pushed it out of his mind, the more often the dreams showed up.

He would try his hardest not to look at the other boys when they stripped down to swim, not let his gaze linger on a squire’s broad shoulders, not wonder what someone’s strong hands might feel like, but in his dreams the feelings he suppressed during the day came rushing back. He would jolt awake more nights than not, realizing his body had betrayed him again, and sick with fear that someone might find out his secret.

Not that anyone else could tell, of course. In the daylight hours, he was still the same Raoul. Cheery, friendly and slow to anger. He was kind to the younger pages and anyone who seemed to be on the outside. He could see in their eyes the same fear and loneliness he felt. Francis was one such page. Smaller and quieter than most of the other boys, Francis didn't attract much notice, and went without a sponsor for almost a week, until Raoul noticed him caught in the rush of a banquet with no one to direct him. Raoul quickly took Francis under his wing, and the two became fast friends. For the next couple years, anywhere Raoul went, Francis followed. 

Raoul had other friends in the palace, Jon and Gary and Alex, but as time wore on, he was closest with Francis. Something about Francis’s taste for silence made it easier for the naturally shy Raoul to open up a little. Slowly, over years, he told Francis more about his childhood and inner world than he had ever told anyone. Francis seemed comforted by Raoul as well, and revealed his own past, and some of what Francis had faced shocked the good natured page.

One night, soon after Francis turned 13 and Raoul was nearing 14, the two boys were up past lights out, having worked themselves into a silly, sleepless stupor trying to finish homework. Of course, homework had been long abandoned but no one had come to check on the pages, and as usual they fell to talking. Maybe it was the late hour, maybe the years of friendship, or maybe it was Francis’s latest revelation of the abuse his noble father had heaped on him. But almost before Raoul knew it, he was saying something he never planned to say to anyone. 

“Sometimes I...I know it's wrong but I think about boys, not you of course but...I don't know how to stop it...the dreams…” Raoul trailed off, already regretting what he said.  
Francis was silent, regarding the bigger boy, as was his way. He was the type who carefully considered what he said, which gave Raoul time to compose himself and slow his rambling. “You're not the only one, you know. There was a woman, at our fife, she lived with another woman. They seemed happy.”

Raoul fought back tears. He couldn't imagine ever being happy with these thoughts. “I wish I could stop feeling this way.”

Francis laid a hand on his arm to calm him, “I don't think I could stop feeling that about girls,” Francis said slowly. “Maybe it's not something the Goddess can change.”

Raoul took a deep, shuddering breath. “Please promise you won't tell anyone.”

“I wouldn't dare,” said Francis seriously. “But if you ever want to talk, you know I don't mind listening.”

For awhile, Raoul felt better. There was no way Francis would spill his secret, after all, he had kept plenty of secrets about Francis’ life. And the act of speaking it, of knowing he wasn't alone, made the dreams slow down, or at least Raoul was less terrified when he awoke. Sometimes he even talked more about the thoughts with Francis late at night, and Francis always listened kindly, and tried to reassure Raoul that he wasn't a lonely freak. 

And then Francis took sick with the Sweating Sickness. Raoul heard it whispered when he went to visit his friend and when he came back. People stricken so badly in the first day usually died. They usually died. Raoul took sick later, and in the heat of his fever right when it was at its worst, he was told Francis had died. Sick with grief, guilt and fear, Raoul thought it wouldn't be so bad to join his best friend in death.

And then, of course, he recovered. And he went to pay his respects to Francis on shaky legs. And he went back to training. And to everyone else, he was the same Raoul. Friendly, slow to anger, kind. And no one knew how broken he was inside, and how exhausted he was, carrying this secret alone again. He didn’t dare risk telling another soul, he had learned his lesson with Francis. And so Raoul went on with his training, hoping that someday, the feelings would go away for good.


	2. The Ordeal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was what the Chamber was for. It was supposed to find flaws and cut you open, to test if you were strong enough to overcome it. Raoul took a shaky breath, tried to remind himself that the Chamber wanted him to be too scared to continue, and did his best to forget what he had seen when he put his hands on the iron door.
> 
> Raoul served well as a squire, once again well-liked by the knight he served and the people he encountered. In calm moments, with his friends, he looked forward to passing his Ordeal, becoming a night like he had always dreamed. In lonelier moments, he wished he had chosen any other life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for alcoholism and some internalized homophobia.

He carried his secret into his time as a Squire, when things became more difficult. Raoul hoped that all he had to do to be accepted was hide his feelings for men. He was so busy spending his time preventing his friends from catching wind of his difference, he did not even consider that he had to eventually manufacture interest in women. But as a squire, balls were frequent, and there was no shortage of eligible young women who wanted to meet Squire Raoul of Goldenlake. His access to women was less controlled than Jon’s was, and the jovial personality that had always been his armor meant that women enjoyed his company more than they enjoyed serious, intellectual Gary or sharp-tongued Alex. 

He spent most banquets trying to show enough interest in the ladies who pursued him to be convincing, but not enough that he led them on until they actually developed feelings for him. Sometimes Raoul was able to brush the ladies off by telling them about the hard and lonely life of a knight, how much training he still had to do. When that didn't work, when a girl seemed intent on getting him into bed, or at least into a darkened corner, Raoul drank. He drank until he stopped remembering who he was, and what he felt. He drank until the thoughts quieted and he was able to kiss soft lips and run his hands up curved bodies without thinking of where he'd rather be putting his lips and hands. 

He didn't always remember those nights. But the girls did, and tales were told around court of Squire Raoul the heartbreaker, and Raoul figured his secret was safe. He didn't take many ladies back to his bedchamber anymore but some nights he drank until he couldn't remember who he was, so he could have a night without the dreams. On nights when he didn’t drink, or when the spirits didn’t work, he tried to remember Francis’ soft, kind words. Maybe this wasn’t something he--or even the Goddess--could change.

Like Squires before him, Raoul occasionally went to the Chamber of Ordeal to place his big hands on the iron door and see what it had in store for him. He put it off longer than most, with a worrying feeling that what the Chamber showed him would too closely mirror what he saw on dark nights, unaided by alcohol. He couldn’t bear the thought of another soul, or for that matter, the Chamber, knowing his darkest secret. 

Of course, when Raoul did finally succumb to Gary and Alex’s constant pressure and go to the Chamber one early morning, he placed his hands on the cold iron door, and was plunged into visions sharper and more detailed than any dream he ever had. The feelings were different too. In his dreams, he was distracted by the physical sensations; strong hands on his waist, the feel of a man’s back under his arms, lips...well, best to leave it at that. But when he put his hands on the Chamber door, the physical sensations were still there, but what knocked Raoul back was the contentment and calm he felt experiencing what the Chamber showed him. 

When he took his hands off, he was out of breath and embarrassed, and looked quickly around to make sure he was still alone in the Chapel. So that’s what he was most afraid of?  
Not just his feelings for men, but that he may enjoy them? Even live with them? Or accept them? As Raoul rubbed his hands together, he considered what it was he actually feared. Did he fear the feelings, the physical acts he dreamt about? Or did he fear that they may never go away and he would be this way forever. He sat heavily on a bench the Chapel for some time, head in his hands, filled with a despair he hadn’t felt since Francis died. What business did he have being a knight? He couldn’t even control his own mind and heart! How would he be strong enough to defend the realm?

After some time, Raoul snapped himself out of it. This was what the Chamber was for. It was supposed to find flaws and cut you open, to test if you were strong enough to overcome it. Raoul took a shaky breath, tried to remind himself that the Chamber wanted him to be too scared to continue, and did his best to forget what he had seen when he put his hands on the iron door.

Raoul served well as a squire, once again well-liked by the knight he served and the people he encountered. In calm moments, with his friends, he looked forward to passing his Ordeal, becoming a night like he had always dreamed. In lonelier moments, he wished he had chosen any other life.

The day of the Ordeal arrived, and Raoul made it through the ritual bath and night of solitude, quaking inside with fear. He barely heard what was said to him, the instructions given. He hadn’t been to the Chamber since that morning long ago when he was a young squire, but he felt in his heart that his fears hadn’t shifted. On that lonely Midwinter morning, Raoul drew a shuddering breath, and stepped into the plain stone room.

The Chamber of the Ordeal shows soon-to-be knights what they most fear. Not everyone makes it out alive, and the Chamber breaks some, making previously well-spoken and intelligent knights into madmen. Before he took his step into the Chamber, Raoul had thought about fear. What purpose it served, and why the Chamber took that specific emotion to toy with. Arguably, emotions like grief or hopelessness were more powerful than fear, but that was not what the Chamber forced them to face.

Unlike other warriors, Raoul thought that fear served a purpose. Though it would have been hard for him to admit it, he knew that fear had saved his life on certain occasions, made him the person he was today. But too much fear, or fear without cause, wasn’t productive. In his training, Raoul had done his best to listen and control his fear. He tried to set limits when he could, and listen to the voice inside of him that told him when things were too much of a risk. It may sound cowardly to some knights, but Raoul knew that it made him a better leader, a better fighter.

Except the one fear he couldn’t face. His fear of men, of love. Raoul’s fear of his secret being discovered, of bringing disgrace to the crown he served, or even of opening himself up to something like love, that was the fear that beat a constant drum in his head. It was the fear he thought his Ordeal would be built around.  
In a way, he wasn’t wrong. Of course, the Ordeal showed him his great fears; failure to lead, watching his friends die, one by one, with nothing he could do to save them, he was crushed in a small space, he felt rats crawl on him, everything that had occupied his young nightmares. Raoul faced the terrors with a sense of apprehension. He knew what was coming.

Finally, as if the Chamber heard his thoughts, Raoul found himself in bed with a man. Unlike the dreams, where Raoul sometimes felt guilt, or a sense of foreboding, now he felt only peace. He felt safe with this unknown man, lying with him, the Chamber giving life to fantasies that Raoul had never indulged. Despite himself, Raoul fell into it, and his fear fell away.

A shaft of light cut the room in two. It looked like someone had opened a door. On the other side, Duke Garath, the King, all of Raoul’s friends, and some of the most gifted knights in the kingdom were on the other side. Raoul’s actions were in full view, his body and that of his unknown companion caught in an unnatural embrace. Raoul’s face burned with shame, as one person after another hurled insults at him, stripped him of his titles, dragged the other man away, removed him to a place of solitude. They said he could never be a knight, not knowing what they know now. Others never spoke to him again. Raoul saw his future laid out, years of loneliness, never fulfilling his duty to the realm, and once again, he felt the urge to join Francis in death. 

With a start, he found himself on the Chamber floor. His hands were scraped and bloody, and his face was coated with tears. He took deep, heaving breaths, trying to remind himself that what he had seen was not real, but an invention to test him. His heart beat wildly, as he struggled to rise.

 _Before you go_ , the Chamber spoke, in a voice that was not of this world. Shocked, Raoul fell to his knees again, the voice reminding him of all the pain he felt. He clapped his hands over his ears, and rocked back and forth hoping and praying for an end to the suffering the Chamber inflicted upon him.

 _I will show you no more_ , the Chamber promised. _You have a sensible attitude towards fear, for the most part_. Raoul heard the voice in his head, covering his ears did no good. 

_Your greatest fear, it is not love, but shame. Your life will edge closer to the visions I have showed you if you do not banish that shame_. Raoul took another deep breath, confused. Was the Chamber...giving him advice? That wasn’t supposed to happen, the Chamber was there only to test, not to assist.

Treat your shame as you treat your fear, Sir Raoul, the Chamber said, it’s voice fading. Too much of either will break you. With that, the door swung open and Raoul felt himself picked up and forced out, falling to his knees on the cold stones of the Chapel. His friends rushed to help him up, and Raoul struggled on unsteady legs, trying to push what happened in the Chamber out of his mind.

He was knighted that night, still hollow and shaky from what he had seen the Chamber. He managed to smile, go through the motions of celebration. If his friends noticed he was quieter than usual, they were kind enough not to mention it. They had all been through the Ordeal as well, and probably had more than enough to think about. A few days after they were knighted though, Raoul sought out Gary. His friend was a better thinker than anyone else, and Raoul knew he could be trusted to keep a confidence, if it came to that.

One late evening, Raoul broached the subject. “Gary, did the Chamber...say anything to you during your Ordeal? Give you advice in any way?”

Gary, always careful with his emotions, took a moment to think. “No, it just chewed me up, spat me out, and opened the door. Why? Was...something said to you?”

Raoul laughed his easy laugh. “The Ordeal was so bad, I have trouble remembering it. I think I must have dreamed that the Chamber was giving me advice, and I’ve been so tired lately I blurred the two.”

“Yes, that’s probably it,” said Gary. But when his big friend took his leave, Gary thought a little bit more about what Raoul had asked. What could the Chamber possibly have to say to his good-natured friend, who didn’t seem to be afraid of anything?

Dreams still haunted Raoul, but these were new dreams. Dreams of shame, replicating what had happened in the Chamber. When his knightly duties didn’t leave him too exhausted to dream, he took to drinking himself into a stupor before bed. Without exhaustion or liquor, Raoul awoke most nights in a cold sweat, heart beating a mile a minute, and visions of the judgement of everyone he knew and admired. He trained harder than ever, volunteered for every patrol he could, and when he was at the palace, drank heavily and hoped the dreams would pass soon.

He took to going into the city alone more often. He would hide out in dim pubs when he was in the capital, drinking strong ale, and not talking to anyone. He dressed in simpler clothes, and while his bulky, six-foot-four frame was hard to miss, few pegged him for a knight, since he didn’t carry visible weapons, and dressed like a commoner. 

At court and in the city, drinking started to get him into trouble. The alcohol made him quicker to anger, more likely to deul, even with his friends. He picked more fights, yelled more often, and became less and less like the calm and sometimes shy Raoul his friends knew. In the city, things were worse. Here, he didn’t have to worry about being bound by the Code of Chivalry, and he began to fight over the smallest instances of disrespect. He wouldn’t have admitted it to anyone, but he was going looking for fights, beating up people weaker than him, and starting brawls in some of the lower corners of the city. He was remembering less and less, and more often than not, found himself back in his chambers with no memory of how he got there, often with bruises or wounds he didn’t remember getting.

One night, Raoul was drinking in a particularly seedy pub, when he saw a man messing with a young woman. The man was clearly drunk, and the woman did seem like she could handle herself, but Raoul didn’t think. The anger that had been building in him was always at the ready, and just like many nights before, Raoul lunged, and pulled the man away. He had started thrashing the man when he felt strong hands pull him off.

“It’s not a fair fight, Sir Raoul, and I won’t have you making a mess on my turf,” George whispered in his ear. To the crowd in the pub, George said “looks like our large friend could use some time to cool off! Sorry about his actions, I’ll be sure to teach him a lesson.”

The crowd cheered as George led a struggling, and drunk, Raoul out of the bar and to his home. George threw Raoul into his upper chambers. “Sober up, I have to take care of some things downstairs,” he said, before dousing Raoul with cold water, and slamming the door.

Raoul was too drunk, and too full of cold anger to do anything but sit on the floor, leaned up against George’s bed. He was so tired, but afraid to sleep, for every time he closed his eyes, he saw visions of being found out. He massaged his head, anticipating how much it would hurt tomorrow, and wished to the Gods he had another drink to calm him.

Before too long, George came back up. Both men were in a noticeably calmer mood, George having spent time among friends, Raoul having had the time for his regular nature to overcome the liquor. George handed Raoul a hot cup of tea. “Drink,” George said. “It’ll help you feel better tomorrow.”

“Thank you,” Raoul said, as he lifted the cup to his lips. He figured George would tell him why he was here soon enough. No sense in forcing an answer out of George.  
Both men regarded each other carefully. Finally, George said “you have to find another place to make your bad decisions Raoul. I’m getting tired of finding my men bloodied in unfair fights.”

Raoul blushed. “I’m sorry, my temper has been getting the better of me lately.”

“I noticed,” said George coldly. “And I’ve heard it’s the same in the palace.”

Raoul said nothing. He didn’t have a defense of his behavior. At least, not one he could tell George. 

“There are two kinds of drunks, Raoul,” said George as he sharpened one of his daggers. “People who drink because they like it, and people who are running from something. Seems to be that drinking is enough to activate your famously slow temper, so I’d say you’re running from something. And the liquor won’t keep you safe for long.”

Raoul looked down. He knew he was using alcohol to run from his problems, he’d been doing it since he was a squire. So far, it had served him fine.

As if George heard his thoughts, he continued, “it’s working now, sure. But your friends in the palace are starting to notice your prolonged absences, and plentiful rages, though they’d never tell you that. I think that’s a mistake. Someone has to tell you that you’re turning into a different man. I guess it just has to be me.”

“I’m not running from anything,” said Raoul. Denial was the only option.

“Try again,” said George.

“It was the Ordeal, I can’t sleep at night without having dreams about it,” Raoul explained, hoping the partial truth would be enough to get George off his back.

“Neither can Gary or Jonathan, but you don’t see them fighting with smaller and weaker men,” said George, not buying Raoul’s defense for an instant.

Exasperated, Raoul snapped, “you shouldn’t concern yourself with my affairs, Thief. I’m more than capable of handling them on my own.”

“Clearly not,” said George, his voice raising. “No man drinks and rages like you do if they don’t have something going on.” Calming himself down, George said, “look Raoul, you’re my friend, and I can see you’re in pain. It may be helpful to talk.”

Raoul said nothing. Neither did George, for a long time. He continued sharpening his knives, straightening his room, going about his business as Raoul sat silently. For some reason though, Raoul didn’t leave. He heard the Chamber’s words echoing in his ears. Too much shame would break him. It was already breaking him. But he didn’t know how to start. He felt trapped by his own fear, shame, and voicelessness. He wished he had a drink. 

After close to an hour had passed, Raoul finally spoke. “It _was_ what the Chamber showed me,” he said in a slow, quiet voice. “It showed me losing my friends, my shield, respect, everything I had worked and trained for. I can’t get that out of my head. Letting everyone down, being doomed to a life of solitude.”

“That Chamber broke you all open,” said George kindly, taking a seat across the room from Raoul. “But you’ve done nothing to lose the respect of your friends, I hope you would know that.”

“It’s not about what I’ve done,” said Raoul. And that was true. He hadn’t ever actually been with another man, but he knew what he wanted. He fell silent.

“If you’re not running from what you’ve done, then what are you avoiding?” said George, snapping Raoul back to reality.

“I...I can’t say,” said Raoul, as he started to shake from fear.

“Raoul,” George said, his eyes serious. “I think if you don’t say something, everything is going to continue to get worse. You can trust me.”

Thinking of Francis many years ago, Raoul shook his head. “I’ve only...told one other person, and he died.”

George let out a small laugh. “I’m not that easy to get rid of Raoul. And I think you’ll feel much better if you speak your fear out loud.”

“It’s men,” Raoul blurted out, almost before George finished his sentence. “It’s men. I...want them, in ways it’s unnatural for a man to want.” His chest heaving, he covered his face in his hands, trying to calm himself down. “The Chamber...it showed me in an embrace, being found out, everyone…”

George kept his distance, guessing that any sign of physical comfort would only trouble the young knight more. “Are you scared of your desires or of being found out?” he asked.

“I don’t know!” shouted Raoul, a sob escaping his chest. “I’m,” he took another breath, and tried as hard as he could to hold himself together. “I’m afraid of all of it.”

The two sat in silence on opposite sides of the room. Slowly, as the morning light came through George’s high windows, Raoul’s breathing eased, and he looked at George. “Well?” he asked, when George’s patience finally got the better of him.

“Well indeed, Sir Raoul,” said George, as he stood. “Rest assured, your secret is more than safe with me. You need only to look at how well Jon keeps his disguise down here. Not a soul will know what you’ve told me.”

“As for the drinking, your temper,” said George, as Raoul let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He didn’t know exactly how much he could trust George, but given that he didn’t have another option, he was glad the King Rouge would be tight-lipped. “I believe the drinking is something you’ll have to figure out on your own.”

“I understand,” said Raoul. “I didn’t used to get into this much trouble.”

“I hope this conversation eased some of it, but you likely have a long road ahead of you,” said George, matter-of-factly.

Raoul smiled, his head still pounding a little, and gathered himself to leave. “Oh Raoul,” George said, as he was almost out the door. “If you ever...well, if you ever want to meet people who feel as you do, you only need to let me know. I know a place or two in the city, fairly hidden, but may be,” here George smiled wickedly, “educational, to you.”

Raoul smiled, and gave the Rouge a good natured shove. “Please George, you I can trust, but go gallivanting across the city? I have a reputation to protect!” And even though Raoul laughed as he left, George saw a sadness and loneliness in the knight’s eyes. George hoped that the knight could find some peace, or maybe even happiness, but he worried the path ahead would be a hard one for his genial, good-natured friend.


	3. The Lower City

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which I imagine what a gay bar in Tortall might look like, and Raoul finally meets somebody.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one gets sexy and there's references to alcohol

Following the conversation with George, small burdens lifted. Raoul couldn’t talk to George like he used to talk to Francis, but something about someone else knowing his secret and behaving normally calmed Raoul slightly. He still went into the city with Jon and Gary and Alan, and George behaved exactly the same, never once mentioning the conversation they had.

For the most part though, things stayed the same, especially as Midwinter dawned. Without the distraction of border patrols or work, Raoul was bound to attend banquet after banquet, meant to chat with eligible young ladies, and be the smiling knight his friends knew. Usually, Raoul drank enough to make it through the banquet, and left alone, bidding poetic goodbyes to whatever young lady had been hanging on his arm. Other times, with particularly persistent women (or women with persistent mothers) Raoul drank more than he needed, and often woke up the next morning with no memory of the previous night, once or twice with a young lady next to him.

Worse than that, his bad temper that had been previously confined to the city started to show up at Court. He fought a duel with Gary he barely remembered fighting, and received (welcome) extra duty from Lord Gareth the Elder. He became quick to anger, quick to take offense, and even quicker to snap at his friends. As the days grew longer and the weather turned warmer, Raoul could feel that he was wearing out his friends’ patience. Any promises or efforts to drink less were met with a deep loneliness and sadness the knight couldn’t shake.

On one particularly low day, Raoul found himself in the city, in George’s rooms. He had never visited George alone before, their talk several months ago notwithstanding. George didn’t seem surprised to see Raoul there, but waited for the big knight to make his request.

“You mentioned...places. Where I might…” Raoul stumbled.

George let the silence hang for a moment, and smiled. “I won’t make you say it. Yes, I’ve heard of one or two, all fairly disreputable. But all well-hidden, and rarely bothered.”

“Which one is farthest away?” asked Raoul.

“Baron’s Cove, it’s west of here, almost on the outskirts of the city. Maybe two miles walk? You’ll know you’re close when you pass the leather market. It’s about a quarter mile past the tanneries, on a side street called Olver, and there’s a dark green door. Small sign, but no windows.”

“Thank you, George,” Raoul said, rising to leave.

“Don’t mention you’re a knight, obviously,” said George hurriedly. “Say you’re a blacksmith or something, passing through town.”

Raoul smiled. “Don’t worry, I’ll be careful. And I won’t mention who gave me the name.”

George smiled and wished the knight luck. Raoul wrapped his cloak around him, pulling the hood up so as much of his face was hidden as possible and set off. It took hours to find the bar, George’s directions being decidedly unclear, and Raoul not wanting to ask anyone. Eventually, Raoul found the street, and the dark green door and went in.

The inside was almost pitch black, and everyone spoke in hushed voices. Men turned as he entered, small shafts of light curling around his large frame. He closed the door quickly behind him, and pulled down his cloak hood. No one looked at him, so he walked to the back where the barkeep was, and took a seat on one of the small stools. A dirty tankard full of ale was shoved into his hand without pleasantries, and he sipped it slowly, trying to get a look around.

As he scanned the room, he caught the eye of a small man, sitting alone at a table. The man held eye contact with Raoul until Raoul looked away, embarrassed. When Raoul looked back the man was still gazing at him with clear sky blue eyes framed by long lashes. At this, the man got up and came to sit next to Raoul.

“I certainly would have remembered seeing you around,” said the man, looking Raoul up and down. “Are you new?”

“Just…just passing through.”

“From?”

Raoul named the first city he could think of. “Port Caynn.” 

“You a merchant?”

“Of a sort.”

The man smiled a twisted smile. “I hope that doesn’t mean you’re a thief. I only speak with honest men,” he said, letting his hand brush Raoul’s leg.

Raoul’s hairs stood on end, his heart beat a little faster, but he tried to stay calm. “No, not a thief. I’m a blacksmith, but I don’t sell my work.” He shifted ever so slightly in his chair to close the distance between him and the man.

“I should have guessed, by the build. I’m Erlan.”

“Ra--Roman,” Raoul said. He had lied about everything else, why give a real name?

“Welcome to Corus, Roman,” said Erlan, shifting so his knee touched Raoul’s.

“If everyone is as kind as you, I’m sure I’ll be fine,” said Raoul with a laugh.

Erlan laughed, and put his hand lightly on Raoul’s knee. When Raoul didn't pull away, Erlan leaned in a little. Not enough for anyone in the dark bar to notice, but enough so that he could speak quietly so only Raoul could hear. 

“If you like,” murmured Erlan, hand still resting on Raoul’s leg “we can go somewhere more private. My quarters will serve, if you don't happen to have space.” 

Nervous, Raoul nodded. This is why he came down here, but his heart beat quickly in anticipation. 

The two men put some distance between them as they walked to Erlan’s rooms. Erlan tried to keep up conversation and Raoul did his best to nod and smile in the right places, but he also scanned the street, making sure there wasn't anyone he knew. Not that it was likely this far out, but you could never be too careful.

“Here we are,” said Erlan, leading Raoul up a narrow set of stairs. Raoul almost folded himself in half to fit through the low door of Erlan’s chamber. “It’s not much but…” Erlan trailed off, looking at Raoul’s eyes and closed the door. With the blinds drawn and no light from the street, the room was almost pitch black. Without lighting a candle, Erlan put his hands on Raoul’s arms, and craned his neck to kiss the bigger man on the lips.

Raoul breathed sharply through his nose. In response, Erlan pressed his chest against Raoul’s lightly and opened his mouth a little. Overwhelmed, all Raoul could do was follow Erlan’s lead, open his own mouth and put his hands (which until now had hung uselessly at his sides) on Erlan’s back. With his hands here, Raoul could feel every breath Erlan took, could feel him arching his back when Raoul put his tongue into Erlan’s mouth, could feel how the man moved even closer to him until Raoul was almost pushed against the door. Suddenly, Erlan pulled away.

“Calm down,” he said kindly. “Your heart is beating so fast, it’s like you have a sparrow in there.”

“Sorry,” Raoul mumbled. “It’s my…”

“Your first time, I figured,” said Erlan, as he undid the strings to Raoul’s tunic, and placed his hands on Raoul’s bare chest. Raoul’s skin tingled, and he was sure his heart beat even faster. “Don’t worry, we’re safe here, no one is going to come in.”

“It’s more that,” Raoul paused, as Erlan moved his other hand underneath the back of Raoul’s tunic. “I’m worried I won’t know what to do.”

“Do what comes naturally,” said Erlan, his mouth on Raoul’s neck.

Raoul bit back a laugh. Naturally? Raoul was so mixed up (and a little dazed from the ale) that he didn’t even know what was natural anymore. But he liked the feel of Erlan’s mouth on his neck so he tilted his head back, and let his hands roam to Erlan’s waist, where he cautiously, slowly, slipped them under Erlan’s shirt to feel the man’s tight muscles. Erlan hummed approvingly into Raoul’s neck, so Raoul figured he was on the right track.

Later, breathing heavily, Raoul took stock. He was soaked with sweat, Erlan had all the windows shut, and the two of them were panting. Raoul felt a mixture of shame and delight, which he felt was a nice change of pace from just shame. 

“Well Roman, that was certainly fun,” said Erlan with a smile, laying next to Raoul. “If you’re ever...passing through again, you know where to find me.”

Raoul chuckled nervously. It sounded like Erlan saw right through the ruse he spun. “I will,” Raoul responded, not sure of what else to say.

Erlan smiled again. “If you leave before I wake, shut the door quietly,” he said, turning over to go to sleep. Mystified, Raoul lay in the dark, stuffy room, thinking. He didn’t feel any different but paradoxically, indulging in what he had always thought about hadn’t filled him with an unspeakable shame. Just a regular amount of shame, which Raoul could more than handle. For the first time in months, Raoul fell into a fairly relaxed sleep, without the aid of duties than ran him ragged or too much liquor.


	4. The King's Own

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon's just trying to help, but forgive him, he is just a clueless straight

Jon became king under less than auspicious circumstances. With Roger’s earthquakes and coup, the deaths of his parents and a realm in chaos, the young king kept his friends particularly close. 

Alanna, the first Lady Knight in Tortall in over one hundred years, and the King’s Champion, was sent far and wide to tamp down rebellions and fight enemies that others would rather not see. 

Gary’s quick mind and vast intelligence was put to good use as Jonathan’s chief counselor, giving the king advice about the business of running a kingdom. Even though Gary, like the rest of them, was only 26, he served the King well, and their youthful energy made new things possible.

Myles and George worked to get Jon as much information as possible, behind the scenes. The events of the past years had left Jon with a healthy skepticism, and he didn’t want anymore secrets. 

So when Raoul was called into the King’s chambers, he guessed that the king wanted to press him into higher services. 

Raoul knocked lightly on the door. “Your highness?”

“Raoul, old friend come in!” Jon was in high spirits, a treaty with Scanra had just been signed, and even though it was a brief truce, and it gave the king (and the realm) confidence in the young man’s leadership.

It was still a little awkward to be around Jon. He had never stood on too much ceremony with his friends, but there was something different now. It wasn’t just that he had the title of King, it was that he carried himself with a different gravitas, a different power now. Raoul tried not to be too overwhelmed by it.

The king sat across a desk and regarded his friend. “So Raoul,” he finally said. “How would you like to lead the King’s Own?”

Raoul’s heart fell. The Own was for young men who couldn’t become knights but wanted the glory, and the young women, that came with service to the crown. It was largely considered a plush assignment that never saw real combat. 

“Your Highness, if I may,” said Raoul tentatively.

“You may,” said Jon.

“I’m not sure that the Own is the…” Raoul chose his words carefully “best use of my skills.”

“Because it’s a joke of a squadron,” said the King.

“Well, yes,” said Raoul.

“I know it is,” said Jon. “That’s why I want you to take it over. I want you to turn it into something more. Our realm has more combat talent than just those who are allowed to be knights. There are commoners, Bazhir, merchants, younger sons of nobles, who can defend our kingdom. We’re not using those resources effectively. And I think you are the person to do it.”

When Jon got like this, it was easier to just let him talk until he was done, so Raoul stayed quiet.

“You’re a strong leader, I’ve seen it and you know it. But you’re also the least judgemental person I’ve ever known. I think you could do a lot to bring people together, and give me a force Tortall can be proud of.”

“So you’re saying,” Raoul paused, “I can run the Own how I want.”

“You have free reign my friend,” said Jon with a smile.

Over the years, Raoul did well as commander of the King’s Own, transforming it from an unthreatening group of noblemen's sons to a deadly force. Not everyone was happy with the end of the strictly ceremonial responsibilities of the Own, just as not everyone was happy that the Knight Commander began recruiting Bazhir men to fight alongside nobles. The King received pushback from conservatives on most of his decisions, from allowing girls to train as pages, to opening schools for all inhabitants of the kingdom. Raoul’s changes to the King’s Own only worsened the deepening divide between conservatives and progressives.

This never bothered Raoul much. The worst thing conservatives did was talk behind his back, or challenge him to duels. Raoul could count on one hand the knights would could give him an actual fight, and met every challenge with ease and good humor. Without magic, conservatives were hard pressed to claim that he cheated, and resorted to spreading vicious rumors about him instead. Not that it bothered Raoul. He had the respect and trust of those whose opinions he cared about, to focus on anything else would get in the way of doing his job.

The worst thing about the Own was having to be the ornamental garland at state functions, a duty Raoul hated.

“I do not see what purpose my presence at any ball serves,” said Raoul said one afternoon, years later, fiddling with a quill as he sat easily in one of King Jonathan’s chairs. King Jonathan had grown into a strong leader, and Raoul, closer to 40 than 30, was proud of how his friend had turned out.

“You command a vital military force in our kingdom,” said King Jonathan, not turning his attention from his documents. Raoul had barged in, demanding to be removed from his social obligations, and the King hadn’t taken the time to look up.

“It’s a great honor, Your Highness, one I thank you for,” said Raoul, meaning it. “And I don’t mind trotting out the Own in all our splendor, jousting with conservatives and showing off. But the banquets. Why must I attend the banquets?”

The King looked at his friend with tired eyes. “We’ve discussed this. Because you command hundreds of men, and you are the Lord of two fifedoms. People want to meet you.”

“Not people,” said Raoul. “Mothers. Matchmaking mothers want to meet me. As if my own family wasn’t enough, every unmarried lass in the kingdom has a mother who’s just dying to set me up with her daughter.”

“There’s also other knights, other people of the realm you can speak with to learn more about the kingdom you’ve pledged your life to defend,” said Jon dryly.

“I never get to meet those people!” said Raoul, sounding very close to complaining. “Because I’m always caught up meeting women who are far too young for me, or women closer to my age who are absolute bores. I learn nothing of new parts of the realm, and all these women leave with their heart broken.”

At this, Jon laughed. His old friend had high opinions of himself.

“You laugh, but you don’t have to deal with the mothers! Please don’t make me attend.”

“As your King, I order you to attend these banquets,” said King Jonathan, getting frustrated that Raoul was taking up so much of his time.

“I suppose, as Knight Commander of the King’s Own, your wish is my command,” said Raoul, a small smile on his face. Jon was quicker to anger than he was, always had been.

Seeing the smile, Jon calmed down. “And as your friend,” he said in a softer voice, “I would advise you to find a wife soon. People talk, you know.”

“If their talk bothered me, I’d be married already,” said Raoul, shrugging his big shoulders. “Besides, that wouldn’t be a gentlemanly thing to do. Marry a girl, and subject her to my trying life as Knight Commander, not to mention everything else? Seems unchivalrous.”

“I don’t see why you can’t just explain it to any potential girls,” said King Jonathan, as if they hadn’t had the same argument hundreds of times.

“Because well-bred eligible girls will surely go running back to their matchmaking mothers with the gossip that Lord Raoul of Goldenlake and Malorie’s Peak, Knight Commander of the King’s Own, prefers the company of men.”

“But Raoul, people already say that! You know that right?”

Raoul took a deep breath, pushing down the part of him that wanted to snap at Jon. This was his friend, but also his King. “People spread rumors. That’s different. People, especially conservatives, will say anything to hurt me. They say I bed men, but they also say I bed young women, they say I’ve never bedded anyone, they say I had valuable parts cut off in a battle, they say all kinds of things. I’m careful to let none of their rumors bother me, so they don’t know when they strike too close to the truth.” King Jonathan opened his mouth to speak but Raoul barrelled on. “If word got out that one of those rumors were true, it goes from being something rational people discount, to a liability for your court and my command. Now, it’s nothing but a child’s argument, cooked up by people unhappy with progress. If someone were to find out it was true, I don’t think I would have the option of keeping my command.”

King Jonathan studied his old friend. Raoul thought like a commander, that was for sure. He had never been as smart as Alanna or Gary, but he thought through his moves more than anyone Jon knew. And on this, he wasn’t wrong. People, mostly old conservatives, did say plenty of things about the friendly commander behind his back. And sometimes to his face. Raoul never let it bother him, always quick to laugh at himself and put others at ease. When people saw that repeated rumors or personal attacks wouldn’t bother him, the fun of their taunts wore out, and they went on complaining about something else.

But if the truth were found out. If there was proof that Lord Raoul of Goldenlake and Malorie’s Peak, Knight Commander of the King’s Own was having relations with men, Jon would have no choice but to remove him as commander. He imagined many of the knights in the King’s Own would have a problem with a commander who bedded men, not to mention others in the castle. King Jonathan sighed. His friend was right.

“Well, you still have to attend the balls. Maybe you’ll meet a nice man there,” joked Jon.

Raoul didn’t laugh. “As you wish, Highness,” he said, with a bite in his voice, before bowing and taking his leave. Jon rolled his eyes. Raoul was a good soldier, and generally slow to anger, but Jon always found he touched a nerve with these conversations.

They first discussed Raoul’s preferences five years ago, in a conversation where Jon was trying to figure out why his old friend, now over thirty years old, wasn’t married. Even Alanna had married, and as Jon saw it, Raoul had been presented with plenty eligible young woman who would have tolerated, and even welcomed, his life of moving, fighting and discovering new places. With the increasing rights for women in the kingdom, Jon didn’t see why Raoul hadn’t managed to find anyone who would allow him the freedom and new adventures he seemed to crave.

Jon had brought it up casually, offering to introduce Raoul to a kinswoman of Thayet’s, who had left Scanra many years ago to sail with merchants. Raoul turned beet red, and made various (bad) excuses about why he wouldn’t want to meet this girl. After much hand-wringing, sighing, and nerves, Raoul told the king his truth in barest detail. Seeing how hurt his old friend was, Jon’s first reaction was to try to make Raoul’s feelings go away with magic. Jon remembered it clearly, as Raoul had been strongly against it.

“But do you want to change or don’t you?” Jon had asked.

“It would certainly make my life easier,” Raoul agreed slowly. “But I just don’t think it will work. After all, magic can’t make a person grow taller or change sex.”

“Maybe most magic can’t,” said Jon, clearly confident. “You forget I have the power of The Old Ones magic behind me.”

Raoul shrugged. “You can certainly try,” he said, more out of politeness than anything else.

The King was already gone, lost in thought about how best to approach this challenge. He took Raoul’s arm at the elbow. “Grip my arm,” said Jon curtly, his eyes focused as he called up his Gift. Raoul did as he was told, and felt Jon’s magic flow into him. Unlike the healing magic he had received, this felt sharp, dedicated. He had the sense that if he pulled away, he’d get burned. Raoul winced as he felt Jon’s Gift rake through his mind, but Jon only tightened his grip, not paying attention to the knight’s pained expression.

“Nothing there,” Jon murmured to himself. He was starting to sweat around his brow, and his gaze was determined. Raoul felt a new surge of magic and hissed. He could tolerate some, but he was starting to realize just how powerful Jon really was. Then he felt a sharp pain at his heart, like someone had scorched it.

“Mithros!” Raoul shouted, wrenching his arm from Jon’s grip. His hand flew to his chest as the pain subsided and only then did he notice that Jon was rubbing his arm with an equally pained expression. “What did you do to me?” Raoul asked.

“I found the place in your heart that controls love,” King Jonathan explained, sending a cool blue light over his own arm. “I tried to tinker with it, and then all the magic and more was turned back to my arm. Like your heart was firing a cannon.”

“Romantic,” said Raoul sarcastically.

“Curious, I would say” said Jon. “You don’t have any magical Gift, I wonder why your body did that? Is it innate? I wonder if it’s something all people possess, or if it’s only people with your...affection for men.”

Normally, it was easier to just leave Jon alone until he had puzzled through what he wanted to puzzle through. But Raoul couldn’t wait. “Your Highness, for now, it seems clear that there’s nothing to do to change my...heart, I suppose. It’s probably best to just leave it.”

“Well don’t give up!” said Jon, absentmindedly. “I’ll keep thinking on it, try some new spells, or look up old ones.”

Since then, the king returned to the problem of Raoul’s nature. After several years of Jon trying different spells and potions, even calling a disgruntled Alanna in at one point for back-up, Raoul put his foot down.

“It’s not working Your Highness,” said Raoul with a hint of frustration in his voice, after yet another failed attempt by Jon, who was pouring over a very old manuscript for clues. “I appreciate you going to such lengths but I think it’s best if we just accept that magic won’t help.”

“Please Raoul, it’s no trouble, I find it interesting,” the King said, absentmindedly.

“I understand Sir, that’s what I’m trying to tell you,” said Raoul, more forcefully this time. King Jonathan finally looked up. “You may find it interesting, but I find it trying. I’ve lived this way for my whole life, I’ve tried everything I could think of, now you’ve tried everything you can think of. Due respect Your Highness, but the only thing that’s worked so far is accepting it.”

“But you said…”

Raoul interrupted him. “I know what I said, and there’s a part of me that still means it. But your magic isn’t working and, if I may be honest?”

A pause. The King didn’t know if Raoul actually wanted permission, but he said, “of course old friend, you can always be honest.”

A longer pause, as Raoul struggled to find a diplomatic way to phrase it. “Your spells and attention to this, it’s...well I’m beginning to feel like you won’t trust me as a warrior and a friend, until you fix this. I know I can give you the results you want, any nature or preferences I have won’t get in the way. I thought you agreed with that, but I’m starting to doubt it.”

Jon sighed, trying to keep his composure. “I’m just...I’m doing what I thought you wanted me to do.”

“Well, stop doing it,” said Raoul.

“I hear you, Raoul, loud and clear, I’ll stop mentioning it.”

“You don’t have to stop…” Raoul took a deep breath before he snapped at his King again. “You don’t need to stop mentioning it. Just, you don’t need to change it either.”

Jon looked at his friend, who he seemed to understand less and less with each passing year. “I trust you to lead the Own no matter what Raoul. You’re a good knight and a better friend.”

Raoul sighed with some relief. “Thank you Highness. May I be dismissed?”

“Yes, fine, we will talk later about our plans for the northern border,” said Jon.

Since that conversation, Jon had refrained from offering magical assistance to Raoul. The two men still disagreed regularly; Raoul sometimes made command decisions that Jon though were foolhardy, Raoul was frustrated with the slow pace of change in the kingdom. But because of the Knight Commander’s famously slow temper, the disagreements rarely got out of hand, and when they did, Raoul rarely held a grudge. He was unlike the Lioness in that way, and it was one of the things Jon appreciated about him, one of the reasons he had chosen Raoul to lead the Own. 

But sometimes Raoul became frustrated with Jon for seemingly no reason. In his younger days, when he had less on his plate, this behavior would have merited attention, but at this point, the King was too busy, and since Raoul needed far less handling than his other friends, Jon bore the frustration without mentioning it, given that it happened so rarely.


	5. Banquets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> why DOES Raoul hate social events so much? Is it connected to his drinking?
> 
>  
> 
> spoiler alert: yes

King Jonathan could count on a few hands the times Raoul had been angry enough to challenge someone since he took over the Own. Unlike Alanna, who had to be forbidden from challenging men on palace grounds, Raoul took every personal insult with a smile. After the King forbade Alanna from challenges, she spent less and less time at Court, believing that it was better to not be seen than endure accusations that she used magic to get her shield, or she wasn’t as strong as men, without being able to duel those who made such accusations.

Raoul shrugged off most comments without notice. When directly challenged, he would of course rise to the occasion as any noble and knight should, but when it came to the common insults that were routine for Jon and his friends, Raoul found it best to pay them no mind. 

“I don’t understand how you do it,” Alanna said one day as the two were out riding. “I know, I know, you just let it go,” she said as the bigger knight opened his mouth. “But I just can’t! These people say these things, and I feel like if I don’t fight back, they’ll think I agree with them! And I feel like everything will get worse. Not to mention, sometimes I just get so mad I don’t even know what I’m doing.”

Raoul considered this. “You have more riding on the comments,” he said after a thought. “It’s harder for you to disprove them with your actions.”

“What does that mean?” asked Alanna.

“If people insult my command, my results can prove them wrong. Comments about my command don’t hold any weight because people can see for themselves the results of my work. On the one hand, you work alone but on the other, people make comments that your gender makes you a worse knight. And that’s just...it’s harder to prove a point wrong when the point isn’t based in facts,” Raoul said. “I guess that’s why the comments don’t bother me as much. It’s not about something so inherent as my gender.”

Alanna thought this over. “But sometimes,” she hedged, not quite sure how to proceed, “they say things about your nature as well.”

Raoul laughed out loud. “That's different Alanna, they think they're spewing offensive falsehoods!”

Alanna didn't laugh. It had been more than a few years since Raoul told her, and she still didn't understand it any better. She understood the feelings he had of course, and she could understand, better than probably anyone, how it felt to hide. What she didn't understand was that sometimes he seemed easy going about it, and sometimes it was something deadly serious.

When Raoul stopped drinking, Alanna was thankful. The liquor was starting to throw him into rages, and he was no longer the shy, happy go lucky man she remembered. She had confronted it about it once. One morning after he had challenged her to a duel for making fun of his dancing, she knocked on his door. Loudly. And early. And with persistence. 

“Gods Alanna it’s...well I don't know what time it is but do you have to knock so loudly?”

“Let me in, we have to talk.”

Raoul looked at her through bleary eyes. “Can it wait?”

“No.”

Raoul smiled wanly at his small friend and let her in. He knew that if he didn't, she'd probably knock all day.

“Do you remember what you said to me last night?”

“Oh no,” said Raoul, putting his head in his hands. “What did I do?”

“You called me an ungrateful wench and challenged me to a duel after I said you were too big and clumsy to dance with Faline of Derilon.”

Raoul groaned. “Alanna, I am so sorry, I cannot believe I said something so horrible to you. Especially when,” here Raoul laughed. “You're not wrong, I am too clumsy.”

Alanna didn't smile. “I know you may not mean what you said. But you weren't you. You haven't been you for awhile.”

Raoul looked down. “I know,” he said softly. 

“If you know, why aren't you doing anything about it?”

“Alanna, if it was that simple I wouldn't be like this! I don't know why I can't…”

“You went through training to be a knight! You survived the Chamber of Ordeal, you've done enough heroic deeds for a lifetime! Don't tell me you don’t have discipline!”

Raoul sighed. “I'm trying Alanna.”

Alanna softened her tone and went to sit by her friend. “I know you are. But what happened? You didn't used to…”

“I...I can't say.”

“You can't say?” The bite was back in Alanna’s voice. “You mean you know why you're doing this and just won't tell me?”

“It's not like that--”

“Then what is it like Raoul? Because I'm not finding any excuse for your behavior.”

There was a long silence. Raoul opened and closed his mouth several times, trying to find the words. 

“I don't want to be dancing with Faline of Derilon,” Raoul said by way of explanation. From Alanna’s face, he could tell that wasn't enough.

“I don't want to dance with any women. I...I want to be with men.”

Alanna was puzzled. “Be with?”

Raoul smiled weakly. “Don't make me say it Alanna, you know what I mean.”

“Raoul I really don’t kn--. Oh. You mean,” she paused. “You want to be with men like I'm with men?”

Raoul nodded, his face reddening and shame filling his eyes.

“I've tried Alanna, I've tried so hard to not be like this but, Gods I don't know.”

Alanna put her arms around her friend. “Oh Raoul. Someone wise once told me that you can’t change what the Goddess gave you.”

If Alanna’s kindness didn’t cheer Raoul, the sight of his small friend’s arms barely reaching around his shoulders would have warmed his heart. “I know,” he said. “It just would be so much easier to not have this ‘gift’ from Goddess.” Sarcasm tinged his normally cheery voice.

“I know how you feel,” said Alanna, recalling her own frustration with her changing body when she was still a page and squire. “I used to hate my...body, my femaleness. But I made my peace with it, and I think you’ll make your peace with this.”

Raoul nodded slowly, but didn’t say anything more. Sweat dripped down his back, and his heart beat fast from fear. The liquor had dulled this feeling when he talked to George, but he remembered it faintly from his conversation with Francis, so many years ago.

“Who else knows,” Alanna asked, after a silence.

Raoul laughed. “Oddly, you’re only the second person I’ve told. The first was George.”

“George...my George?” Alanna asked, clearly confused. “Why?”

“He dragged it out of me, just like you did. Confronted me about my drinking, and eventually I admitted it. I guess it’s nice to know he kept his promise to not tell anyone.”

“Huh,” said Alanna, only now realizing just how seriously the King of Rouges took confidences.

“If you ever need—“

“To talk, I know George said the same thing.”

“I’m not George and I’m not going to let you off that easy,” said Alanna, frustrated. “Clearly your poor behavior is caused by your own shame at your nature. Normally I’d just allow you to have your shame in peace, but you’re making everyone’s lives miserable. So I’m going to force you to talk.”

“That’s not going to help,” said Raoul coldly.

“How would you know? You haven’t tried it!”

Raoul sighed. Alanna could be so stubborn and he could tell he wasn’t going to get back to sleep until he agreed with her. “Maybe not, but I highly doubt you’ll have something meaningful to say.”

“I’m going to blame the liquor for that, the Raoul I know was never that rude,” said Alanna, leaning back onto Raoul’s headboard. “So let’s get it over with Raoul. When did this all start?”

Raoul thought their little talks would be the end of it. The day after he told Alanna, she bustled back into his rooms, chattering about quieting spells, and bolting the door and forcing him to talk about his feelings for close to an hour. Raoul thought that when he wished for someone to share with, he should have been more specific. Alanna was a kind person, but had very little patience for any of Raoul’s excuses. Her visits were exhausting, with her always probing for more details, firmly telling him not to be ashamed or embarrassed. But that wasn’t the worst of it.

The King held a banquet in honor of the birth of Princess Kalasin, and it was exactly the kind of social event Raoul hated most. People from all over the capital came, and the festivities were rumored to go on for days. On the first night, Raoul was surrounded by young women who giggled over his strong arms and wooden manner. He reached for a glass of mulled wine and felt a calloused hand on his wrist.

“Raoul! Come over here friend, I want you to meet someone,” said Alanna, dragging her bigger friend away.

While Alanna introduced him to an achingly boring university professor, Raoul scanned the hall for another squire with a tray of glasses. As one passed by, Raoul reached out a hand, only to feel Alanna’s arm on his elbow. How did she get over to that side?

“Yes, Master Jirna is a renowned expert in cartography,” said Alanna, literally pivoting Raoul into the conversation.

“What are you doing Alanna,” Raoul hissed.

“Keeping you away from liquor, I can’t believe how difficult it is!” Alanna said, through clenched teeth and a plastered smile.

“Then stop!” barked Raoul. Master Jirna took no notice of this, continuing to talk about the virtues of sheepskin for maps of the Island nations.

“And let you embarrass yourself? No. I said I would help you, and that’s what I’m doing.”

“I don’t remember asking you for help,” said Raoul.

“And yet,” said Alanna cheerfully, “here I am!”

Raoul rolled his eyes and gave up on looking for squires and pages. As long as Alanna was at his side, he wasn’t going to be able to get away with a glass. His forehead got sweaty, not from the lack of alcohol, but because he didn’t know what to do with his hands when they weren’t holding a drink. His heart beat faster, and he was worried about any one of the young ladies who could come over and cajole him into a dance. His anxiety mounting, Raoul wished with all his heart that he could be anywhere else.

Alanna didn’t seem to notice any of this. She stood at Raoul’s elbow, talking to Master Jirna’s companion, an intelligent-looking woman who was talking about the history of Maren. Raoul twisted his fingers together until Alanna placed her hand on his arm without even looking at him. He felt a calm start to spread through his body.

Turning to glare at Alanna he said “you don’t have to spell me into enjoying myself!”

“I’m sorry,” she said, sounding genuine. “You just seem so nervous.”

“I am, thanks to you,” Raoul retorted. 

Alanna turned him, leaving Master Jirna and his friend to a conversation. “I’m not responsible for your feelings, Raoul,” she said her eyes steely.

“That’s right, you’re not. So leave me the hell alone!”

“But, as the King’s Champion, I am responsible for making sure no one is a threat to the King. Which I suppose entails keeping you away from liquor.”

“I’m not a threat to the King,” Raoul said, keeping his tone low and calm enough to not alert any recent ears.

“Not yet, but you’re getting there,” said Alanna angrily, her temper flaring.

“You know I would never hurt Jon,” said Raoul, rage slowly rising in his chest. “And I hope you take back that accusation before I challenge you before the court.”

Alanna held his eyes. She didn’t think her friend would ever actually challenge her, but the black rage she felt from Raoul was new. She was wary about pushing him farther than he could handle.

“Go find you wine,” Alanna said coldly, looking away from her friend. “I don’t care what you do.”

Raoul stalked away, frustrated with his friend’s meddling. His rage mixed with fear made him an awful party guest, and he left the celebration without speaking to anyone else.

Alanna sighed, and felt George at her arm. “Don’t say anything,” she snapped. George had warned her against meddling. She couldn’t take his smug attitude now.

“I knew you’d have to try,” he said. “You have a good heart Alanna, and you want to help your friends. I hope you realize that the only person who can change Raoul’s behavior is Raoul. We just have to be here for him when he finally admits he needs help.”

Alanna looked at her husband. He had told her something similar when she confronted him about Raoul. She didn’t want to admit it, but it did hurt her to see her old friend in pain. She wanted to help him. But she had to admit that George was right. There wasn’t much she could do if Raoul did not want to change.

She gave Raoul some space after that, allowing him to make his own (terrible decisions). They spoke occasionally, but she didn’t try to push him to talk about more than he wanted to. Alanna was beginning to believe that the angry, short-tempered man was here to stay, when Raoul knocked on the door to her palace rooms one night.

“I want to apologize,” said Raoul, before Alanna could say anything. “I know I haven’t been myself and I know you were only trying to help. I don’t like the person I’ve become, and I want to try to be better. I’ve asked the King to give me some time away, to go back to the Bazhir for awhile. I’ll be there to recruit new men for the King’s Own, but also away from some of the stresses of court that contribute to some of my bad behavior. But before I left, I wanted to sincerely apologize to you. I know you were only trying to help.”

Alanna didn’t think twice, and wrapped her old friend in a hug. “I’ll be here for you when you return. I’m glad you’re finally taking this step.” If she noticed Raoul shed a tear or two over her forgiveness and embrace, she didn’t mention it.


	6. The Desert

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Southern Desert wasn’t the strangest place to hide out. After all, Raoul had spent time there as a young knight, and been adopted by the Sandrunners. He liked that the Bazhir didn’t have formal occasions he had to suffer through, and only seemed to care about how well he fought and hunted. He had friends among his own tribe and others, and he was looking forward to returning to the desert, especially with the coming winter in the north. 
> 
> (what happens when Raoul goes to recruit some men for the King's Own from the Bazhir)

The Southern Desert wasn’t the strangest place to hide out. After all, Raoul had spent time there as a young knight, and been adopted by the Sandrunners. He liked that the Bazhir didn’t have formal occasions he had to suffer through, and only seemed to care about how well he fought and hunted. He had friends among his own tribe and others, and he was looking forward to returning to the desert, especially with the coming winter in the north. 

But when it came to a place to explore and understand his feelings for men, there was no worse place than among the Bazhir. Tortall as a whole was not friendly to men like Raoul, but the Bazhir were less so. He had never seen the practice of “stoning” where a man was buried up to his neck and pelted with rocks, but it turned his stomach to think about it. His friends among the Bazhir said it rarely happened anymore, an assurance that didn’t provide as much consolation as they thought it did. 

Alanna hadn’t understood why he was choosing the Bazhir. “Don’t you want to go somewhere more accepting?” she asked while he was packing.

“I thought about that,” said Raoul. “But I think I need to come to terms with my own emotions first. I can hope that Tortall will become more accepting, but in the meantime, I need to figure out how to live if it doesn’t.”

Alanna hummed in acquiescence. She saw Raoul’s reasoning, and she particularly agreed with his decision to go to a place where liquor was less common. “You’re going back to the Sandrunners?”

“I think so,” he said, surveying his empty room. “They’re almost as far South as a man can go, and it’s as good a place as any to start. But I’ll probably move around some. I do intend to recruit some men for the Own.”

Alanna nodded, and regarded her friend. Trust Raoul to keep his duty to the realm, even has he was trying to quiet some of his own demons. She touched the ember stone pendant she wore and said a silent prayer, hoping the Goddess would watch over her friend.

Raoul rode south several days later. Alanna had engaged in a cagey conversation with the King, trying to figure out how much he knew about Raoul. Jon had supported Raoul’s decision to recruit more men from the Southern desert, and confided to Alanna that he thought their friend could use some time to handle his own relationship to alcohol. When Jon didn’t mention anything more, Alanna figured he didn’t know the reasons for Raoul’s worries, and let the subject drop.

Once on the road, Raoul felt himself breath easier. He loved traveling through the realm, learning about the many people and cultures that constituted Tortall. He particularly liked the Bazhir, who didn’t care who he was as long as he could hunt and keep up on rides. He looked forward to several months of not being bothered.

Raoul had spent time with the Sandrunners several years after he won his shield. Everyone had heard about how well Alanna had integrated into a tribe, which was all the encouragement Raoul needed to see this new part of the realm. The Southern Desert was poorly understood by many in Tortall, but Raoul knew that there were probably resources the Crown could use. He did well in first trip down, being adopted and brought into tribal life, and he hoped this journey would be even more fruitful.

It was almost a seven day ride to get to where the Sandrunners usually stayed. Raoul reached them in six, since they were farther north than usual. As he rode up, shield uncovered to warn the tribe that a friend was approaching, he was met by one of the younger members of the tribe.

“Raoul, it’s good to see you again,” said Abdalhakim, son of Waseem Kirhul, Chief of the Sandrunners. 

“Abdalhakim!” Raoul said, taking the hand his friend offered. “It’s been too long. How is your father?”

Abdalhakim nodded sadly. “He passed away several months ago, I am the new chief.”

Raoul was shocked. Waseem was not that old, and Raoul had heard nothing about a new chief. “You didn’t send word to the Voice?” he asked, knowing the tribes were more familiar with Jon as their Voice than their King.

“We did, but from your face, it seems he didn’t let you know,” said Abdalhakim, as he and Raoul rode into the village. Raoul was surprised. Jon knew he was an adopted member of the Sandrunners, and a friend of Abdalhakim’s. He would have wanted to go down and see the ceremony where his friend was named chief. Why had Jon kept that from him?

Raoul shook the thought from his mind, and turned his attention to the tribe. The men he had hunted with gathered around as he dismounted. He smiled and greeted each of the men, watching the women on the edges of his vision. The Bazhir women had never really spoken to him, but he didn’t see them speaking to many other men in the tribe. Though Raoul had been kind, the men of the tribe had told him that women didn’t often interact with men they weren’t married or related to.

“How long do you plan to stay with us Sir Raoul?” said Khalil, one of the young man.

“Don’t call me sir, Khalil you know better,” Raoul said with a laugh. “As long as you’ll have me, I suppose, though I’m interested in seeing other parts of the desert.”

“You may be in luck,” said Taieb, a kindly older man who had been a guide to Raoul during his early days with the Sandrunners. “We’ll be traveling west to trade with other tribes. You’ll be quite an oddity, but we’d be happy to take you along.”

Raoul smiled. The Bazhir were gifted warriors, but not very tall. Raoul was at least a head taller than the tallest man in the tribe, and while his friends in the Sandrunners were strong and fast, none shared his broad frame and brute strength.

“I’d be honored to travel with all of you,” said Raoul, excited to see what else the desert had to offer.

“We have quite a feast prepared tonight, in honor of our travels,” said Abdelhakim. “But as it nearing sundown, we will commune with the Voice first. Would you care to join us?”

“I’d be honored. I should let the Voice know I arrived safely after all,” said Raoul. He didn’t share Alanna’s worry about giving Jon a part of her. He had joined with the Voice in his first time with the Sandrunners and found that he could keep his most private thoughts separate. He suspected many Bazhir could do the same.

Raoul let Jon know he had arrived safely, and settled into a feast with the Bazhir. He hadn’t expected to be traveling so soon, but he wasn’t going to fight it. He felt...called would be too strong a word for someone like him with no magical Gift but he felt like he needed to see what else the desert had for him.

Of course, he regretted that decision early the next morning when his bones protested more riding. He shoved any complaint down, excited as he was to see new things. The small company of men he rode with seemed slightly more wary, but Raoul had faith in their skills as warriors. 

Raoul looked behind them at the wagon, filled with glass products. Last night, Taieb had filled him in on the rituals of trading among the Bazhir. The Sandrunners made much of the necessities they needed to live, but they had superior glass craftsmanship, and tended to trade that with other tribes. The Bloody Hawk usually traded weavings, and other tribes traded things like weapons, steel, or other craft goods that took some tribes far longer to make. There wasn’t a central place the tribes traded, and because many were nomadic, trading expeditions did not always have a set route. 

This time, the Sandrunners were hoping to find the Dune Shifters, a tribe that, according to Khalil, had some of the best woodwork in the desert. Usually they camped far to the west, so the Sandrunners started out, putting the sun at their backs. The Bazhir, on their small horses, rode fast and hard, and Raoul said a silent apology to Thundercloud, his big mare that was forced to do a lot more running than usual. 

The other Bazhir noticed too. When they broke for lunch, Khalil laughed at Raoul’s sweat soaked horse. “My friend, you may want to trade for a faster horse at the first opportunity,” he said.

Raoul laughed, though he was worried about his horse. “You think one of your Children of the Wind would hold me?”

“Actually, we may come across Blazing Flames soon,” said Taieb. “They breed the best horses in the desert, and I’m sure they would be glad to help you find a suitable mount. Better than working that poor horse half to death.”

As if to confirm this, Thundercloud shook his head vigorously. Raoul laughed again, and for the sake of his horse, hoped they’d find Blazing Flames soon.

The Horse Lords must have smiled upon them, for in the middle of their second day of riding, they met some sentries from Blazing Flames. The Sandrunners explained Raoul’s dilemma, and without smiling, the Blazing Flames men led them into camp. As they rode, Taieb came up next to Raoul.

“Don’t be offended,” he said. “The Blazing Flames are an incredibly traditional tribe, I don’t think they are fond of the King, or Tortallan knights. But don’t worry, we won’t let them cheat you.”

Raoul smiled. He was used to people distrusting the knights who barged into their communities, and he was not surprised that some Bazhir tribes felt the same way. If anything, he was surprised that the Sandrunners had accepted him so completely. After the way Tortall had treated the Bazhir, he would not have been surprised to face outright hostility.

Once in the camp, some of the Sandrunners opened the wagon, in case anyone in Blazing Flames was interested. Taieb went with Raoul when a man waved him over.

The man bowed to Raoul. “I am Nourdin ibn Ghazi, headman of the Blazing Flames.”

After a brief silence, Raoul gathered he was supposed to introduce himself. He bowed deeply, and said “I am Sir Raoul of Goldenlake, Knight Commander of the King’s Own and member of the Sandrunners. My friends told me you have breed the best horses in the desert.”

Nourdin did not smile, and instead turned and indicated Raoul to follow.

Raoul turned to Taieb. “They’re a people of few words, the Blazing Flames. Especially with outsiders.”

“Bring your horse and meet me by our corral,” called Nourdin.

Raoul retrieved Thundercloud and brought him to Nourdin, who stood with several other expressionless men, each with their own horse.

“We trade here,” said Nourdin. “If you want one of our horses, you can trade with one of these men, the warriors of our tribe.”

Raoul smiled at the men. “Hello, I’m Raoul, Knight Commander of the King’s Own for Tortall.”

The men said nothing. One or two looked slightly more interested but the rest gazed past Raoul to the desert. 

Raoul leaned toward Taieb. “Can I asked for them to introduce themselves?”

“Why?”

“I’m recruiting warriors for the King’s Own,” Raoul said, sizing up the warriors before him. 

“And you think now is the best time to start?” whispered Taieb.

“Just a feeling I have.”

Taieb sighed, and nodded to the men. “I am Taieb Kiber, Elder Warrior for the Sandrunners.”

The Blazing Flames men exchanged looks and one spoke out. “I am Mura Halek, Head Warrior for Blazing Flames. This is Latif ibn Maktab, Fatim Abbas, Ali Nazif, and Qasim ibn Zirhud.”

Of the men introduced, only Qasim met Raoul’s eyes. The two stared at each other for a moment, and Raoul went over to the hardened warrior.

“Quite a horse you have here,” Raoul murmured, going over the mare.

“She’s one of the fastest in the tribe,” Qasim said quietly.

“I’m afraid even if I did want to trade you, my current horse would not be enough of a payment,” said Raoul, drawing back up to his full height, and looking at Qasim again.

“Maybe not,” said Qasim, nonchalantly.

“At least, not if you want to continue as a warrior in the desert.”

Qasim was quiet, and narrowed his eyes slightly.

“Headman ibn Ghazi,” Raoul called. “I’m interested in Warrior ibn Zirhud’s horse. Could I speak with him separately.”

Nourdin nodded, and the other warriors drifted off.

“Mr. ibn Zirhud--”

“Qasim.”

“Qasim then,” said Raoul. “I mentioned I command the King’s Own. I’m looking for more warriors, and I think you would be a great asset.”

“You just met me,” said Qasim, turning his attention to his horse.

“You don’t think you’d be a good asset then?”

“I’m the best warrior in the tribe,” Qasim said sharply.

“Well, there you go,” said Raoul.

“And do you northerners always trust people so quickly?”

“Of course! Why do you think we’re always fighting off murderous mages?”

At this, Qasim stifled a laugh. He regained control of his face, and turned to Raoul gravely. “So you want me to leave my tribe, family, and fight for a realm that stole land from my people?”

Raoul swallowed. He hadn’t thought about that, but he kept his cheerful demeanor. “Only if you’re interested. It’s a fair salary, and you would have a chance to see quite a bit of the realm.”

Qasim sighed. “I need time to think.”

“Of course,” said Raoul. “I believe the Sandrunners are moving out tomorrow. If you care to join us, you are welcome, and after our trade journey, you and I, and other warriors I find, can ride back to Corus.”

Qasim nodded. “Do you still want my horse? Or was that just a ruse?”

“Oh no, I still need the horse, if you’d like to trade,” said Raoul.

Qasim nodded, again. “Well, I’ll think on that too.”

Early the next morning, Raoul readied Thundercloud. He was disappointed that Qasim hadn’t decided to join them. He thought the man could do well in the Own, though he did not fully know why. Qasim was the only Bazhir he met so far who seemed interested, even desired, to leave his home. Raoul sensed the warrior wanted to see more than just the desert, and Raoul had wanted to give him that opportunity.

Just before they left, Raoul heard footsteps. Up rode Qasim, with a second mount on a lead.

“Sir Raoul,” he said. “If the offer still stands, I will ride with you. And I will trade for your horse.”

Raoul smiled, and looked over the second horse Qasim brought, as a fine-boned and fast as his own. “Qaism, I think this will work out just fine,” Raoul said with a smile, mounting the new horse and shaking the hand of his new friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of these names are not real Arabic words, I know! I wanted to change them enough to make them fit in fantasy Tortall.


	7. Better as Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> everyone wants more info about Buri so here's another chapter about Qasim! but seriously, sometimes you love someone but you don't...love them that way

As they traveled, Raoul saw that Qasim was just the type of good-natured, level-headed person he was hoping for to join the Own. The Bazhir man proved to have a fine sense of humor, once he got to know others in the Sandrunners. And though the men met few problems, the minor skirmishes they did have showed Raoul that Qasim was an able and talented fighter. 

The two men quickly became friends, spending nights by the fire together talking. Raoul didn’t know what in the desert compelled him to become so close to people so fast. He figured it was something in opening his mind to the Voice that made him want to open his heart to other people as well. Qasim, in particular, was a kind listener, and more than willing to answer Raoul’s own questions, whereas many other Bazhir were more reticent with outsiders.

“Have you traveled Tortall much?” Raoul asked one night as the two men sat around a dying fire. 

“Not much, no,” said Qasim, warming his hands. “The Blazing Flames are very insular, it kills us to admit there are things outside of our own tribe and homeland.”

“So you’re the first to leave?” Raoul asked, impressed.

“No, not the first. There are always one or two men who go to Corus or Port Caynn to try to become rich, and we had a young girl go to the Shangs years ago.”

“But it’s rare?”

“It’s rare,” Qasim said. 

Something made Raoul want to ask more. He had a feeling that the promise of work with the King’s Own wasn’t the only reason Qasim had decided to come with him.  
“What did your family say when you said you were leaving?”

“I’m a younger son,” said Qasim, by way of explanation.

“Meaning?”

“Meaning there is already a son to take over my father’s trade and what he owns. There are already sons. The name will continue no matter what I do. My family was,”   
here Qasim paused. “They were certainly shocked when I said I was traveling with a knight of the King we haven’t always respected. But they didn’t protest.”

“And you?”

“And me what?”

Raoul suppressed a sigh. Was Qasim being deliberately difficult? A glance at his new warrior found the Bazhir man fighting a smile. When Raoul glared at him, Qasim laughed.

“Oh alright! I was excited to travel,” said Qasim, picking up a long stick to get some more heat out of the coals. “I’ve seen the entire desert, I know what my options are here. I want to know what my options may be elsewhere.”

Raoul accepted this, and they sat quietly until Qasim asked. “And you?”

Raoul laughed. “What about me?”

“Why are you traveling with the Sandrunners?”

“I’m recruiting new warriors, I thought that was obvious,” Raoul said cheerfully.

Qasim didn’t respond. Raoul got the feeling the other man knew he was lying. “Well, that’s part of it.”

When Qasim still didn’t respond, Raoul went on slowly, deliberately looking into the fire. “I was, well, I had a problem with my drinking. I needed some time free from the capital to clear my head.”

Qasim nodded, and laid a hand lightly on Raoul’s arm. Raoul turned, and Qasim said, “the desert can be a good place to do that.”

Raoul’s heart beat slightly faster. He hadn’t noticed before how kind Qasim’s eyes were, how full his lips were, the curly hair Raoul suddenly wanted to run his fingers through.

Raoul shifted slightly and broke eye contact, willing himself to think of something, anything else. “Yes,” he said with a croak, his throat suddenly dry. When he chanced a look at Qasim, he saw that there was a slight sweat forming at the other man’s temples. 

“I think I’ll turn in,” said Raoul, standing up abruptly.

“Yes, good idea. I’ll wait until the fire dies down a bit more,” said Qasim, not looking at Raoul.

“Good. Sleep well,” Raoul went back to his tent, confused and cursing himself. Had he made Qasim uncomfortable? Was he in danger? Was Qasim? Raoul didn’t sleep well that night, listening as Qasim banked the fire and went to bed, and then letting the sounds of the desert night lull him into a fitful sleep.

Qasim was the same as always the next morning, and Raoul tried his best to calm his nerves. Maybe Qasim hadn’t noticed anything. Raoul had learned that other men weren’t as obsessive about their casual affections, overthinking every touch or look. George, Jon, even Gary were all far more physically demonstrative than he was, hugging and leaning on each other and other men without a second thought. It was Raoul who was careful, giving no one a reason to question his gestures or actions. 

There wasn’t much more time to ruminate on it though. Taieb had gotten word the market was settling down for a few days, and the Sandrunners wanted to catch up then. The next three days were solid riding, and by the time they set up camp, Raoul was too tired to sit by the fire.

But once they got to the market, there was nothing but time. Raoul spent part of every day talking to young men, trying to find new warriors for the Own, but still had hours of uninterrupted time each day. A couple days in one place normally made him anxious and unsettled. Coupled with the many hours of free time, Raoul’s nerves were on edge.

And so when Qasim asked him if he wanted to go riding one evening, Raoul jumped at the chance. Nevermind that the two of them hadn’t spoken much since their uncomfortable moment around a week ago. Raoul needed to move in some way.

The long summer days meant that there were still a few hours before the sun set, but the worst heat of the day was over. The men rode out to a bluff above the village, and followed the ridge to a grove of trees. Neither said anything, content to ride in silence until they came upon a stream.

“I best let Thundercloud drink,” said Qasim. He had another horse for their long travels, but was still trying to learn how Thundercloud rode. “He tires so quickly.”

“Just like his former master,” Raoul laughed, dismounting. 

Qasim laughed quietly, stroking Thundercloud’s mane as Raoul filled a bottle full of water. The sun was low in the sky, and desert animals started to come alive in the cooler air.

“I was starting to feel cooped up in the village,” said Qasim, not looking at Raoul.

“As was I,” said Raoul, stretching his arms. “I don’t like staying in one place too long, and all the feasts and ceremony make it--”

“Stifling,” finished Qasim.

“Yes! But a Bazhir feast is nothing compared to the banquets in Corus,” Raoul said lightly.

Qasim shuddered. “I hope I never have to attend. All those eyes on you, the dancing.”

“The Bazhir don’t dance?”

“Oh, we do, but it’s not something that’s required. You don’t have to dance with the young ladies if you don’t want to.”

“You don’t have to dance with young ladies in Corus,” Raoul said carefully. Why would Qasim have brought that up? Was he hinting at something? “I rarely do.”

“Hmm,” said Qasim, still not looking at Raoul. “No pressure for marriage in the capital then?”

“I don’t know about the capital. My family is certainly eager to see me wed,” Raoul said, bitterly.

“Why aren’t you?”

“Why am I not what?”:

“Married,” said Qasim, turning to face Raoul, who suddenly realized the two were standing quite close. 

“I’m not--” Raoul’s mouth was paper dry. Sweat was starting to form on his palms. He noticed Qasim’s eyes darting around as well.

“I don’t want to marry.” Raoul paused and added, almost as an afterthought, “a woman.”

The silence was deafening. Raoul saw Qasim take a deep breath and shift slightly towards him. Raoul fell into the delicate dance he had done with other men, the smallest movements, testing the waters, allowing the other person to pull back at any time. Little actions that other men may overlook, to test if another was actually interested. A brush of an arm. A hand on an elbow. One small step closer. A caress of the back of your dance partner’s neck. And finally, a kiss.

Raoul couldn’t say exactly how it happened, but he was kissing Qasim, in a small, exposed grove, in the middle of the Southern desert. And it was…

Terrible, one of the worst kisses he’d ever had. He couldn’t seem to find a normal place to put his hands. He felt like he was using too much tongue, and then not enough. When he opened his eyes, he noticed Qasim’s were open too, looking puzzled. Raoul broke off the kiss.

“I’m sorry,” said Qasim. “Not for kissing you but uh, that just um…”

Raoul didn’t say anything. He didn’t want to tell Qasim how odd their kiss had been.

“I’m not usually that bad of a kisser,” said Qasim bluntly.

Raoul laughed. Hard. “I’m not either!” he said, relieved. “I don’t know why, but that was the worst kiss of my life.”

“Oh thank Mithros you felt it too! I was worried I’d have to break the news gently that I could never kiss you again.”

The two men laughed again. Then, Raoul said, “so...you are…”

“Yes,” said Qasim. “I love men and women.”

“And women?” Raoul said surprised.

Qasim laughed again. “Usually people are surprised by the other part of that sentence. But yes. Women too.”

“Oh, my life would be easier if I could love women too.”

“No, it wouldn’t,” said Qasim with just a hint of bitterness in his voice.

Worried he had upset the person who could be his new confidant, Raoul backpedaled quickly. "You're probably right, I don't know why I said that. I can't imagine that your life is any less complicated, no matter how many people you love."

Qasim sighed, almost with relief. “It’s not easy,” he said, sitting on a nearby log. “Especially here. It can be dangerous. I can’t even believe I kissed you in the open. I don’t know what I was thinking. If it had been a better kiss we both would have been in trouble.”

Raoul laughed, and sat next to Qasim. “I know. I have to warn you, Corus isn’t much better.”

“No stoning there though.”

“True. But it can still be dangerous.”

The two men sat in silence for a moment. Then, “is that why you joined?” said Raoul.

Qasim didn’t answer for a moment. “Not entirely. I really do want to see other parts of the realm. But I can’t deny that I was looking for a way out of the Blazing Flames. Of all the tribes I’ve seen in the desert, they’re the most conservative. People were starting to talk about why I wasn’t married.”

“I understand that,” said Raoul. “I have to imagine my mother suspects something at this point. Almost every other man of my age is married.”

“But not us.”

“Not us,” agreed Raoul. “I’m glad you decided to join the Own, Qasim. You can trust that I’ll keep your confidence.”

“And I yours. I imagine the Own won’t be as friendly if they learn of this.”

Raoul sighed. “I suppose. I hope that Tortall will begin to change its attitude toward this--” At this Qasim laughed. Raoul smiled, “but I don’t have much hope.”

“I won’t lie, your good looks inspired me to join the Own as well,” said Qasim, a hint of a blush creeping to his tanned cheeks.

“The other night by the fire I wondered if I could continue to work with someone I found so attractive!” Raoul shot back, smiling at Qasim when he relaxed.

“I think we’ll be better as friends though,” said Qasim, shuddering with the memory of their chemistry-less kiss.

“Me too,” said Raoul. “What a change, I’ve never had a friend I can really share this part of myself with.”

“Me neither. It will certainly make things interesting.”

Raoul laughed again, more easily than he had in years. He stood and pulled Qasim up. “Well then friend, let’s get back. We have some recruiting to do!”


	8. Buri

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If Raoul is gay, what's the deal with Buri?

_"Why not bring someone?" asked Kel sensibly. "They can't try to match you up if you bring an eligible female. Not me, though. Not even for you, sir, would I face at your great-aunt's what I get at Grandmama's."_

_That startled a bark of laughter out of him. Then his face turned gloomy again. "If I bring a lady of our rank, Kel, she might think I mean something by it. I don't want to hurt someone that way. I may be a feckless gawp of an overage boy. Aunt told me once, but I don't play fast and loose with people."_

_Kel leafed through her book without seeing it. "Why not Buri?" she suggested at last. "She won't get any romantic notions, you'll have someone to talk to, and maybe your relatives will leave you alone, at least about marriage."_

_Raoul thought about this, rubbing his chin. "Why would she put herself through something like that if she didn't have to?"_

_"Aren't you friends?" Kel wanted to know. "I'd help my friends in a situation like that."_

_"She'll never agree," Raoul said, one hand inching toward a sheet of parchment._

_Kel smiled and put the book down. "Not if you don't ask her. I'll take the message."_

 

\--

Practical, sensible Kel. She looked at all the available facts of the situation and came up with the best solution. Any roadblocks in her way and she would do her best to work around them. It was what would make her a great commander, and it was why Raoul had chosen her to be his squire.

So he really had only himself to blame when she boxed him into a corner. Kel was more than aware of his distaste for matchmaking and the pressure to find a wife, he didn’t think much of complaining about his upcoming family gathering. He should have known that Kel would take this as a problem she could solve, another person she could help. He knew his squire better than that. 

Raoul couldn’t blame her for the neat solution she proposed, he couldn’t expect his squire to understand everything that was behind his prior refusals to bring an eligible lady. He had assumed that Kel knew about the rumors that swirled about him, about his chosen bed companions. But on the other hand, most people who knew Raoul brushed off those rumors as the baseless lies of conservatives, and were quick to deny them. And Kel stayed far away from court gossip as it was, what with all the hateful rumors conservatives cooked up about her.

So Raoul really could only blame himself when Kel eagerly offered to deliver his message to Buri. He tried to give excuses, but Kel was more persistent than he expected. He dashed off a quick note for Kel to deliver: _Buri—dreaded family gathering tonight. Would delight in the pleasure of your company._ That, at least was all true.

Kel, glint in her eye, rushed off to deliver the note. Raoul groaned inwardly. Even his own squire was a matchmaker. He couldn’t get away. 

He fiddled with a quill, wondering what, if anything, he would tell Buri. She probably wouldn’t get any ideas, or pursue marriage, but Raoul has learned it was better to not assume those things. He could probably trust Buri, after all, they had fought together countless times, and had even saved each other’s lives. Maybe Raoul could trust her with his true nature.

But Buri was loyal, first and foremost, to Thayet. Would she feel the need to tell the Queen? Raoul guessed that Jonathan hadn’t ever considered mentioning this to his wife, but Buri likely would. And the more people that knew, the more risky his life became. 

Raoul put his head in hands. This promised, no matter what, to be a messy situation, and he regretted ever bringing it up to Kel.

Speaking of, Raoul’s mental calculations must have taken longer than he thought because he heard his Squire’s footsteps in the adjoining tent. 

“My Lord?” she said before entering.

Unfailingly polite, that one. “Yes, Keladry you may enter.”

“Buri said she’d be happy to accompany you.”

Raoul put on his best natural smile. “Thank the gods,” he said with forced relief. Kel didn’t seem to notice anything, and smiled what she thought was a secret smile before retreating to her own room. 

\--

Raoul paced up and down the castle entrance as he waited for Buri. His mind was spinning slightly, trying to find the easiest way out of this situation. It hadn’t left his mind all day, as he dressed in the appropriate party attire and prepared to meet Buri. Now that he was actually waiting for her, his nerves had reached a fever pitch he hadn’t felt in some time.

Life had been, if not easy, easier as Knight Commander of the Own. They were gone much of the year, and Raoul had avoided the worst of Court life for the better part of ten years. He was no longer drinking, and having Qasim as a confidant, trusting another person, had done wonders for Raoul. Slowly, he had shed the prickliness he developed after the years of fearful hiding, and returned to the cheery, good natured knight his friends loved. 

Which was why this whole Progress came as such as a surprise to Raoul. The King knew how much Raoul disliked social events. It struck Raoul as almost vindictive that the King had forced him into so many social obligations on the Progress. He had no idea what brought this out, but attending banquet after banquet had worn Raoul’s nerves to the quick.

He had forgotten how stressful it was to hide in plain sight in a room full of people. Having to make conversations with women who were hoping it would lead to something, and knowing it never would. And the dancing, being obligated to stand so close to perfectly nice women, some of whom used the opportunity to inject heat or passion into Raoul, who more often than not, went wooden when confronted with the touches of a woman.

And now he was in that situation with a woman who had become one of his closest friends. He couldn’t bear to lose Buri as a friend but the thought of having to pretend to be a man he wasn’t, it just added to the unbearable pressure Raoul felt he was under.

He felt a hand on his arm. “Raoul?” asked Buri.

Raoul turned sharply. “Oh, gods, you surprised me.”

Buri laughed. “Didn’t think that was possible, Commander. You look nice tonight.”

Raoul blushed. “As do you,” he said to Buri, barely looking the other commander over.

“What’s going on with you?” Buri asked, her brow knitted in concern. “You’re not usually like this.”

“I have to tell you something,” Raoul blurted out before he could stop himself. “But, not here. Can we walk a bit?”

“Of course,” Buri said kindly. “Is everything ok?”

Raoul laughed, but there was no joy behind it. “Not really, but none of that’s your fault.”

The two started to walk. Raoul didn’t say anything, and Buri seemed content to give him space. Raoul kept looking over his shoulder until they had gone a short distance from the palace, and he pulled Buri into a secluded ally.

“I am very thankful you agreed to come with me to my family gathering.”

A long pause. Finally, “is that it? That’s what you wanted to tell me?” Buri said. “Seems like you could have just said that at the--”

“No, that’s not--Buri I, I value your friendship, and I don’t want you to get any ideas, there are things you don’t know about me--”

Raoul had hoped Buri would jump in, but she just continued to look at him. When he didn’t finish his sentence she said, “go on then. What things?” 

Just like Buri. Raoul couldn’t help but smile. His smile faded quickly though, and he said, “the uh...the reason I’m not married.”

Still nothing from Buri. She was going to make him spell everything out for her. Deep breath.

“I’m not attracted to women. I take men as lovers.”

“Oh. Well,” Buri said, taken aback. “I wasn’t...I certainly wasn’t expecting you to say that.”

“If that changes anything, you don’t have to come tonight. I just hope this won’t change our friendship.”

“Oh gods, Raoul, no of course it won’t! I don’t care about who you love, it’s just surprising to learn. Give me a minute to process.”

“Of course.” Raoul said, fiddling with the hem of his tunic while Buri looked at him. 

“I guess it makes sense,” she said finally.

“What?” Raoul said, gripped by fear. He didn’t want everyone being able to deduce this, he thought he had done a good job covering it up.

“Not like that! I never would have guessed, don’t worry. I’m just saying, it is one of the more logical explanations for you not being married. And of course, we all know the rumors.”

“Of course.”

“Like I said, Raoul, it’s not important to me. You’re one of my closest friends, and I’m going to be here for you no matter what. Now, let’s get to this event.”

Raoul sighed with relief, and the knot of fear that was ever present in his chest loosened a little. At his Great Aunt Sebelia’s, he endured the usual questions about his bachelorhood, and resolutely introduced Buri as a friend. More astute members of the family smiled knowingly at Raoul and Buri, assuming the two were actually together. Raoul didn’t correct them. His great aunt, of course, made it clear that, at 40, Raoul could really only expect foreigners to marry him. She thought she whispered this, but of course everyone heard. Raoul was about to tell his aunt exactly what he thought of her, but Buri and his father’s sister, Miria, pulled him away. 

Buri handled the gathering excellently. Everyone in the family loved her, and Raoul overheard Miriam telling Buri what a great match she thought the two of them were. Buri didn’t correct her.

But if Buri was handling Raoul’s family like a professional, Raoul was a mess. At one point, the talk turned to the Yamani Islands, and the prince’s marriage. Raoul’s great-aunt, of course was against it, and it gave everyone license to share their own prejudices about the Yamani Islands.

Raoul’s hands curled into fists. Buri noticed, and put her hand lightly on his arm. Raoul reminded himself to breathe, and had almost calmed himself down when--

“And their simply barbaric practice of turning a blind eye to the...unnatural relations between men. Makes me sick,” said his cousin Joretel. 

“Oh, it’s unforgivable,” said Hebia, another aunt. “If you ask me, it means the whole society is on the decline.”

As the rest of the family voiced their disapproval, Raoul politely excused himself. His temper was rising, and no good would come from him staying to listen. He went outside and leaned against the house, rage filling his chest. Looking hurriedly around, he saw an ax and some unchopped wood. It was the only thing he could think to do to get out some of his anger.

He was in the middle of the stack of wood when he heard “Raoul?” He startled, almost dropping the ax, but training kept it in his hands. He turned.

Buri was standing there. She came up and laid a hand on his arm. “Someone asked where you are. Let’s go inside, you must be freezing.”

“I’d rather just go home,” Raoul said.

“That just adds fuel to the fire of any rumors your family may or may not hear,” Buri said bluntly.

Raoul sighed with frustration. She was right. He had to pretend like their comments didn’t bother him, because otherwise it would give them more reason to take those rumors seriously. 

“Look,” Buri said, her voice kind, “I know how it feels to have people say those kinds of things about you.”

Raoul grimaced. She did know. More than most other people he knew, Buri knew what that felt like. And here he was, childishly taking out his anger on a pile of wood while she had endured the worst of barbs some members of his family had flung at her.

“You’re right,” Raoul resigned. “I’m sorry, I should have considered--”

“Enough, it’s fine,” said Buri, curtly. “Let’s just get back inside, make a little more polite small talk and then go drown ourselves in some liquor.”

Raoul laughed, bitterly. “I won’t stop you Commander Buri, but I think you’ll like me less and less the more I drink.”

Buri smacked her forehead. “Right! I forget. We can find another way for you to take the edge off,” she said leading him inside. She grabbed his arm, and Raoul put down the ax. He surprised himself by not tensing at her touch. Then he reminded himself that this was Buri, they had been in closer quarters many other times before. He shook his head again, and let Buri drag him into his aunt’s house.

\--

The pair didn’t last much longer at the Goldenlake family gathering. As Sebelia got drunker, her tongue became looser, and she let more insults fly. After a particularly pointed speculation on Alanna’s virtue, Raoul took his leave. Other members of the family smiled apologetically, and Raoul forced a half-grin, trying to mask his anger at his aunt. Apparently he wasn’t the only one who became worse when he drank.

As soon as they put some distance between themselves and the house, Buri let out a loud sigh. “Gods! Your family is just…”

“You can say it,” Raoul said when she paused. “They’re awful.”

“I didn’t know you came from such conservative stock!”

“My father and mother are a little better.”

Buri scoffed. “Still. You’re a pleasant surprise. To me. You must be such a disappointment to your great-aunt.”

Raoul laughed. “I suppose I am.”

“I need a drink. Several drinks,” said Buri, scanning the street until she found a tavern, and pulling Raoul in.

Raoul didn’t mind being in taverns. Even though liquor flowed freely, he didn’t have the same anxieties in darker, seedier places in Corus, and he felt less of a need to drink. Instead, he would fill a tankard, often with water, and it was usually enough so that no one would notice. Tonight was the same. Buri knew he didn’t drink but didn’t even say anything as he ordered the largest tankard they had, which looked comically large against her short stature.

Buri shot him a look when he suppressed a laugh. “Sorry, sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t laugh when you just put up with my family.”

“Exactly,” Buri said, and downed around half the tankard in one gulp. “It’s not just your family, though,” she said when she came up for air. “Midwinter is always a tense time.”

“The banquets?”

“The family,” Buri said. “And Thayet is too busy with her royal obligations, it’s just lonely sometimes.”

“I imagine,” Raoul said kindly. “But you have an open invitation to all Goldenlake family gatherings, or just spending time with me to avoid Goldenlake family gatherings.”

Buri laughed, and then her eyes widened. “Raoul. That’s brilliant.”

“What?”

“Me, becoming a part of the Goldenlake clan.”

“Of course, you’re welcome no matter what.”

“No, I mean permanently. Legally.”

“What?”

“Marriage. You and I, getting married.”

Raoul laughed out loud. “You’re joking.”

“Why would I joke?” Buri said seriously. “It make sense for both of us. You find a wife, beat the matchmaking mothers and some of the court gossip, but it’s me, I know about your situation. In return, I have the security of marrying one of the oldest families in the realm. You forget, I don’t have inheritance or any property to my name, and I can’t command the riders forever.”

“But Thayet--”

“Thayet will do what she can, but there’s nothing like a legally binding plot of land to give a woman a sense of security.”

“Buri this is insane. I can’t marry you, we could never...you don’t want to marry someone who you can’t be intimate with do you?”

Buri sighed. “Look, just think about it ok?”

Raoul shook his head and Buri ordered another tankard. Marrying Buri? She was one of his closest friends, one of the people he trusted most in the world. He could avoid the set-ups, everything about banquets that made him go wooden. But marriage was permanent. She would change her mind, she would want a husband who could love her like a husband should, not like a friend does. She would change her mind, and she would be stuck, and she would resent Raoul. Their friendship would deteriorate, and things could get worse from there. Buri didn’t strike him as a gossip, but people could do hurtful things when they’re wronged. Raoul’s head started to hurt and he started to wish for a drink.

“Hello?” Buri said. “Are you still with me?”

“Sorry. Just thinking about your terrible idea.”

“It’s not that terrible, but just forget about it for now. You’re starting to get that tense look on your face. Tell me more about the boys you’ve kissed in court instead.”

“Buri!” Raoul hissed. “Not so loudly!”

She just laughed. “Oh it’s so loud in here, no one heard me. Now spill. Kiss and tell.”

Raoul sighed. “If you must know, I don’t normally find my suitors at court. Too much risk.”

“So where do you go?”

“Do we have to talk about this?”

“Yes,” said Buri firmly, taking another sip.

“Taverns, I guess. Rundown ones, usually.”

“But how do you know who’s interested?”

Raoul shrugged. “There are little signs. If you hold eye contact with someone and then they come over instead of looking away, it’s a good sign. You can gauge it better when you’re talking to someone. If they lean in, or brush your arm.”

“Sounds complicated.”

“I guess,” said Raoul. “But it sort of has to be. I’d hate to...well, if the wrong person found out.”

“I suppose you’re right,” said Buri. “So you’ve never been with anyone at court?”

“I didn’t say that,” Raoul said, some mischief in his eyes.

“Tell me everything!” Buri said.

\--

The two stayed out late into the night, and as they walked back, it became clear Buri was a little drunk.

“I’m fine Raoul, stop babying me! I can get back to my own chambers thank you!”

“I’m not saying that,” Raoul whispered, since the two were in front of his rooms. “I’m just offering to walk you there, in case you get lost,” he laughed.

“Stop,” Buri giggled, pushing him, and tripping a bit. Raoul caught her, right as one of the servants rounded the corner, eyes going wide at the sight of the Knight Commander holding the Commander of the Queen’s Riders in a (apparently) passionate embrace.

“Buri,” Raoul whispered.

Buri turned, saw the servant, and leaned into Raoul. “I suppose I will come in,” she said, in a voice Raoul had never heard before.

“You’ll what?”

“Come on,” Buri said, tugging on Raoul’s tunic and urging him to unlock the door. Once they entered, Raoul turned to her.

“What are you doing?”

“Feeding some swirling rumors about you,” Buri giggled. “Now quiet, you’ll wake up your squire.”

Raoul rubbed his forehead. He was starting to get a headache. “So are you...staying here?”

“Of course. Your bed is big enough. I hope you don’t mind, I prefer to sleep nude.”

“You’re kidding me.”

Buri smiled and started to wiggle out of her clothes.

“Buri, I don’t know how to make it any clearer, I’m not interested!”

“You dolt, I know!”

“But I don’t understand why you’re doing this!”

“Doing what?”

“Any of this! Going to my great-aunt’s, suggesting you would marry me, sleeping with me just to help my reputation! What’s in this for you?”

“Raoul,” Buri said calmly, now just in her loincloth and breastband. “I’m your friend. I went with you to your great-aunt’s because you asked. I’m trying to help your reputation because it’s something easy for me to do and would help you a whole lot. I’m doing all of this because I like you as a person, I want you to be happy, and I enjoy spending time with you.”

The room was quiet.

“Well?” Buri asked.

“I don’t know,” said Raoul. “I guess I’m just thankful you care that much about me and surprised anyone does.”

“You’d do the same for me.”

Raoul laughed. “I don’t know, you’re being very nice now. I don’t know if I could match that.”

“Don’t worry about it. Now I’m exhausted,” Buri moved to take off her loincloth.

“Wait, just,” Raoul said, flustered. “Even if you do sleep nude, just...leave your loincloth on for tonight?”

Buri laughed. “Fine.”

“And turn around while I change.”

“Well how is that fair,” said Buri, crossing her arms.

“Fine,” said Raoul, stripping down, and climbing into bed. Buri got in next to him, not touching. But Raoul had forgotten how comforting it was to share a bed with someone, and some of his anxiety unknotted. It wasn’t that Raoul had never had a friend that cared about him, it was more that Buri was just being so kind, he didn’t know how he’d ever repay her. But he figured they could deal with that tomorrow. For now, he let out a breath and turned to face his friend.

“Good night, Buri.”

“Good night, Raoul.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The beginning italicized section is taken right out of Squire. Hope I did Buri justice!


	9. Happy Misunderstandings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raoul tried to teach Kel about the facts of life. It doesn’t go as well as he’d hoped
> 
> —
> 
> I stole one or two lines of dialogue from Squire

“Your girl made a big mistake Goldenlake,” a voice sneered from behind him.

Raoul turned and was immediately confronted by Leovrix of Tirrsmont. Leovrix was one of those nobles who knew just how to bait people. He would sound polite and proper to anyone listening in, but he knew how to twist the knife and insult whoever he was talking to. Raoul didn’t care for Leovrix and his court games, but the feeling was mutual. Leovrix was a conservative, and he didn’t like Raoul much either.

“My girl? You must mean my beloved Amberfire, because I can’t imagine a fully grown knight referring to a woman in such a disrespectful way,” Raoul said with a broad smile.

“You know what I mean,” said Leovrix. “Your squire. Jousting against Ansil is a mistake and you both know it.”

“I just got back from breakfast Leovrix, I haven’t even had a chance to check the lists,” Raoul walked over to the posted tournament schedules, Leovrix not far behind. His eyebrows jumped when he did in fact see Kel’s name on the list. But he didn’t think it was a mistake like Leovrix did. In fact, he was sure Kel could beat Ansil, with the right knowledge.

But Raoul could play games too. And he wasn’t about to let Leovrix or Ansil know how confident he was in his squire. So instead, he manufactured a look of concern and shock and turned to the other knight.

“If you’ll excuse me,” he said, pushing past him. He could hear Leovrix snickering behind him and it took every muscle in Raoul’s body to keep a smile off his face. He knew he looked deranged to any passerby, and was thankful he didn’t grow up in the Yamani Islands. His control over his face left much to be desired.

He was, however, genuinely surprised to see the flap of Kel’s tent closed. It was a warm day, and Kel usually left the entrance open for Jump and the sparrows to go in and out as they pleased. Raoul was about to open the flap when he heard Kel--and a male voice--from inside the tent.

He stepped back, suddenly feeling nervous. He knew that he would eventually have some type of conversation with Kel about men and command and reputation, but knowing such a talk would take place eventually and staring down the barrel of it were two different things. He backed away from the tent and sighed. 

Maybe they were just talking, he thought. All of Kel’s closest friends were men, it could be a completely innocent conversation. But of course, if it was an innocent conversation, they wouldn’t have the tent flaps closed during the daytime. Raoul knew what that meant. He had been inside too many stuffy daytime tents to be fooled. He sighed again, and decided all he could do was let Kel know he was there and go from there.

“Kel?” He called, trying to make himself sound farther away, so the two lovebirds would have time to retie any tunics or...Gods, Raoul didn’t want to think about it. “Are you here?”

She didn’t respond, but Raoul could hear panicked rustling. He had to admit it was charming, the two kids (oh he hoped the male voice was a squire and not a full grown knight) scrambling to keep what they thought was a secret. He waited maybe a moment too long, and entered the tent to see Kel and Cleon of Kennan, both looking the picture of innocence. Except for the visible flush on both their cheeks. 

No one said anything for a moment, so Raoul chattered into the silence, asking too many questions, and eventually arriving at why he had come, Kel having her name on the boards to joust with Ansil. Before he’d found that red-headed giant in her tent, Raoul was planning to talk strategy with Kel. Of course, it looked like he’d have to have another conversation first. He tried to make that clear to Kel and Cleon, and left the two lovebirds to go into his tent. He heard them talking, then giggles from Kel, then silence. Then footsteps. Raoul smiled to himself, and poured some juice as Kel came into his tent. She sat down, and Raoul thought about how best to phrase what he wanted to say.

“We both know you’re in a very unique position, where you will always be around more men than women. Many men, unfortunately, will treat you with disrespect, refuse to follow your orders, act as if you are less than them. When you find men who treat you like an equal, it’s understandable to want to keep them close.”

“Sir I--”

Raoul held up a hand. “There’s nothing wrong with that. I’m not saying that in order to be a knight you have to give up on love or a family. My advice would be to just be careful who you choose to know...intimately. It can be challenging to be in command of someone who you also share a bed with.” 

Kel’s cheeks turned slightly red, and Raoul was a little embarrassed too. He hadn’t meant to say that so bluntly, or insinuate that he knew about the balancing act of managing a man by day and sleeping with him by night. Though, of course, he did. He’d had one ill-advised and mercifully short lived romance with one of the men in the Own. Thankfully, the man eventually requested a transfer to First Company after things turned sour between the two of them. It was when Raoul had first taken command, and the last time he ever slept with someone who he had to potentially send into battle. Raoul was about to say something else when Kel jumped in.

“It’s not like that, my Lord, not at all!” Kel had an urgency to her voice Raoul hadn’t heard before. An urgency he almost recognized. It dawned on him.

Of course his polite, sensible squire wasn’t going to get into trouble...with men. Raoul had wondered if Kel, who had eyes only for her work, who’d never had a wisp of court gossip follow her, well, he’d wondered if she simply wasn’t interested in the men around her, and was instead interested in the fairer sex. 

Faced with the prospect that his squire was more similar to him than he thought before this conversation, Raoul was a little speechless. On the one hand, he had a lifetime of experience balancing his feelings and his work. He knew, better than probably anyone Kel would talk to, about the secrets she’d have to keep, the shame she’d have to fight off. He could give her advice, help her out, ease her rode, give her the comfort and encouragement he never had. On the other hand, Raoul knew very little about women. Comically little. So he wasn’t going to be much help with the specifics.

He took a breath. “Kel,” he said seriously. “It’s alright if you...prefer women, you know. There’s nothing wrong with that. And I’m here if you want to talk to someone about it, if you...uh...want advice from someone who’s been th--”

“My Lord,” Kel blurted out, her face even redder than before “My Lord, that’s not--that’s not what I meant.”

Now it was Raoul’s turn to blush, and for squire and knightmaster to look at each other, each hoping the other one would say something.

Raoul, being the adult in the situation, spoke up first. “My mistake, Kel, I apologize for assuming.”

“No, I’m not offended, it’s just not me. I guess what I meant was, it’s not like I’m taking Cleon, or anyone really, to bed. I’m far too young and I...I don’t even know if that’s something I want.”

“That’s fine too,” Raoul said, the red falling from his cheeks. “You don’t need a lover in your life to be happy, if that’s not what you want.”

“With respect sir, I already know that,” Kel said, smiling shyly. “After all, you don’t have a lover in your life, and you’re happy. It’s actually been--it’s been nice seeing how you live. I’ve never really wanted to end up with a man and stay with him forever, and I guess seeing you be happy alone makes me know that I don’t have to find anyone to be happy.”

Oh Gods, this was just one misunderstanding after another. For a second, Raoul just thought about not correcting her. He could see sweat forming on Kel’s brow and he knew that expression in her face. Kel was telling him something very important about herself, and she was desperately looking for him to affirm it. And as much as Raoul wanted to confirm his squire’s assumption about his personal life, he didn’t know if more dishonesty was fair to her. 

He poured juice to occupy his hands while he thought of a response. “You’re right,” he said finally. “Some of the happiest times in my life were when I was improving myself, working to build the Own, enjoying the company of my friends. It’s as easy to live a happy life without a a lover as it is to live a happy life with someone. It all depends on you, and you never have to force yourself to do anything or commit to anyone if it makes you uncomfortable.”

Ok, that was successful. Kel looked relieved. Raoul could almost see the weight lift off her shoulders that he didn’t even know she was carrying. Clearly, his words had helped a little.

“In the spirit of full transparency though, I uh...I’m not ‘alone’ right now, not in the sense you mean,” Raoul said.

“Oh, I didn’t know you and Buri were--”

“We’re not,” Raoul said quickly. Too quickly. Kel, rightfully, looked puzzled.

Lost for any appropriate and clear way to communicate, Raoul just said, “you know Master Seastone? Uh. Yes. Him. Me. Together. Yes.”

Kel’s eyes widened imperceptibly. “Oh that...that makes more sense with what you said earlier. About the--if I was--no, yes I understand now.”

Raoul put his head in his hands and laughed. “We’re hopeless Kel! Dancing around what we want to say and not saying it. You’re too polite, I’m too--”

“Awkward,” Kel said.

“You wound me Squire, but yes. If I may, just so there are no more misunderstandings. You. Not interested in men. Or women! Or anyone! And that’s fine!”

Kel blushed again. “And you are courting a Shang Master.”

“And if anyone asks you about it, you tell them I’m courting Eda Bell,” Raoul said in mock seriousness.

Kel laughed. “Don’t worry, I know. Neal explained it to me back when we were pages, but I have to say, the Yamani Islands is so much more open about these kinds of things.”

“Oh Gods, I hear enough of it from Hakuin, but for the last time, I’m not moving out there to be the giant foreigner everyone can gawk at.”

“I survived,” Kel said. “You probably would too. It’s just too bad Tortall is so close-minded about it.”

“That’s the way the acorn falls Squire. Now, Ansil of Groten. He’s a hesistater. Right when he should set for impact, he flinches. You can use that.”


	10. Courting at Court

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happens when Raoul falls in love? Or starts to at least.

He was more comfortable finding people now. Raoul learned quickly that Baron’s Cove wasn’t the only place in the city he could find men who shared his persuasions. Meetings in the city had their advantages. For one, he was not at all likely to be recognized. He wasn’t as well known as Alanna, and could move in almost total anonymity. And sometimes men would take him back to their rooms, sometimes more than once. 

But to keep his privacy, if men didn’t offer their homes, Raoul had to forego sex, or make do with something hurried in an alley. At least meeting someone in the city gave him the option of going back to a private place.

The men Raoul picked up within the palace were never interested in anything more than a quick encounter, outside in the rose garden or in a secluded corner of the palace. Even when he’d suggested they go back to his rooms, no one took him up on it. They were all too nervous to be seen leaving the banquet with him, or being seen coming out of his rooms later. Some were young, men who were still finding their way and terrified of being found out. Others were older, conscious that they had to return to their wives. 

When he was younger, that didn’t bother him much. He had one or two people at his regular inns and pubs who were always glad to see him and take him home, and gradually he stopped chasing people in court at all. The only remaining problem was that no one in the city knew who he was. He could trust people in the palace to keep quiet, for he could expose them too if they talked, but he was far more guarded in the city. The way he saw it, the people he slept with had something to gain from exposing him, so he stuck to one or two cover stories about who he was, instead of letting people get to know him. Not that it mattered. He didn’t exactly use his mouth for talking when he saw his friends. And keeping up a flimsy fiction was better than kneeling in a rose garden to suck some scared noble off. 

The news that Shang warriors had arrived (and were planning to stay semi-permanently) set the whole palace abuzz. Everyone was surprised Wyldon had agreed to bringing in Shang warriors to teach the pages, given how dismissively he’d spoken of hand to hand combat. Raoul didn’t bother getting too excited about it, mostly because he’d never known Shang warriors to stay in a place for more than a month or two.

That thought didn’t stop him from being forced into attending a banquet to welcome the Shangs. Thankfully, Alanna had to (wanted to?) attend, and George was busy, so Raoul had a ready made dinner companion. The two were chatting when people turned their attention to the new arrivals. 

As soon as he saw him, he knew he was in trouble. The Shang warrior was tall, carrying no extra weight on his well built arms and legs. He looked like the type of person who could run for hours and never tire, who could move quickly but with unimaginable force, who could contort his long, long limbs into any number of moves to lay an enemy flat. His jet black hair fell just slightly over his forehead, and he surveyed the hall with dark brown eyes. His skin advertised his Yamani heritage, but unlike any Islander Raoul had met, this man’s eyes danced with emotion, and he smiled slightly, hands placed on his hips, looking out from a solid stance.

In other words, he was undoubtedly Raoul’s type. 

For a moment, their eyes met, and Raoul felt a blush immediately flooded his cheeks. He broke eye contact quickly, but when he (inevitably) looked back, the man was still looking at him, and he smiled slightly. The two held eye contact until someone came up to the man to lead him to a table. 

“Raoul? Raoul!” 

He’d forgotten Alanna at his table. “Were you listening to me?”

“Uh,” his croaked, his throat suddenly very dry. “Not really, what were you saying?”

Alanna looked at him sideways. “I was saying that’s Eda Bell, she taught Liam kickfighting.”

“Jon’s son?” Raoul said, still distracted.

“What? No, the Shang Dragon, obviously. Why would Liam of Conté be taught by the Shang Wildcat?”

“I don’t know, why?” Raoul followed the man across the banquet, and was interrupted by a hand waving in front of his face.

“Are you sick?” Alanna asked, and he felt the gentle probe of her magic.

“No!” he said, trying to snap out of whatever haze he was in. “I’m fine, stop magicking me.”

“You’re being odd,” she said, following his gaze. “What are you even looking at—oh Goddess, is it the new Shang warrior?!”

“Be quiet!” Raoul said, suppressing a desire to clap his hand over his friend’s mouth. “And no, that’s not it.”

“Oh that’s it!” Alanna seemed gleeful. “You’re so lovesick, it’s kind of sweet.”

“I am not lovesick, merely curious in our new guests,” Raoul said, sneaking another peek. “Do you—happen to know his name?”

Alanna laughed. “Yes, as a matter of fact, he’s Hakuin Seastone, the Shang Horse. Would you like me to introduce you?”

“I’m sure I’ll meet him in due time,” Raoul said trying to sound calm. 

Alanna laughed again. “Suit yourself,” she said, and went to say hello to Eda. 

They didn’t talk that night, but as Raoul was leaving, he scanned the room one last time, and when he found the man—Hakuin—their eyes locked again. This time, Raoul kept his head, holding his eyes until Hakuin blinked, and smiled. This time, Raoul smiled back and gave a small nod. They’d probably see each other around again, and at least Raoul hadn’t looked like a total idiot.

Several weeks later, they happened to be at the practice courts at the same time. Along with about twenty other people. Hakuin was doing strengthening exercises in one corner, and Raoul purposefully put his back to him while he ran through combinations with spears and swords. As Hakuin was leaving, Raoul watched him walk out. Right as he was about to leave, he turned, caught Raoul looking, and winked. 

Raoul couldn’t practice anymore after that.

They didn’t speak the next several times they saw each other, passing in the drafty halls of the palace, on the courts, or at one of the smaller dinners the King hosted that both were expected to attend. They continued playing an unwinnable game with their eyes that Raoul was starting to think would go on forever.

And then Midwinter.

Raoul knew Midwinter would give the two of them ample opportunities to meet and actually talk. Based on their weeks of smiles, winks and meaningful glances, he suspected Hakuin was interested as he was, but he thought they’d need to talk to be sure. Midwinter, with its crowded banquets would allow him to approach Hakuin without it seeming overly strange. 

But on the first night, he chickened out and the two passed another silent night.

The second night, in between the dessert course and dancing, Raoul saw Hakuin get up and forced himself to leave the table and put himself in the path of the Shang Master.

For the first time, they stood face to face. Hakuin smiled. 

“We haven’t officially met,” Raoul said. “Raoul.” He extended his hand.

“Hakuin,” he said, taking Raoul’s hand. Instead of the show of strength Raoul had grown accustomed to with men who knew his status and were trying to prove themselves, Hakuin took his hand warmly, gently, and the two let their hands linger a touch longer than normal. “I hope you don’t mind me saying, your reputation precedes you.”

“And I hope you don’t mind me saying you’re quite the warrior,” Raoul said. “I’ve watched you on the practice courts, it’s a sight to behold.”

“If I’d known you were looking, I would’ve showed off a little more,” said Hakuin with a smile.

Raoul blushed. He knew flirting when he saw it, so he returned it, as subtlety as he could manage. “You may have to show me in person sometime,” he almost whispered, leaning a hair closer than he should’ve.

“It’s awfully warm in here,” Hakuin said, staring at Raoul intently. “Is there a place for people like us to walk and cool off?”

There it was. “I know one or two, if you’d like to take a walk before the dancing starts,” Raoul said.

“Lead the way,” Hakuin said, following enough behind Raoul that people wouldn’t necessarily assume they were together.

The farther they were from the banquet hall, the closer they walked. Raoul could feel the heat from Hakuin next to him. When their hands brushed, Raoul felt electrified, and walked a little too fast to one particularly secluded area by a staircase used only by chambermaids serving foreign guests in the mornings.

They stood in the dark alcove, noses almost close enough to touch. Both remained almost frozen, and Raoul finally broke the silence with a whispered “can I—“

“Yes,” Hakuin said, and Raoul didn’t need anything more before leaning in and kissing him.

How nice, to kiss someone almost as tall as he was. He felt Hakuin’s defined muscles under his thin tunic, and complied when Hakuin’s strong hands pulled their hips flush together. Their first kisses were urgent, as if making up for the weeks they’d spent dancing around each other. Hakuin pulled lightly on Raoul’s curly hair and Raoul slipped his hands under Hakuin’s tunic and was rewarded with a soft moan. They were so intent on the kiss they didn’t hear the gossip of servants until it was almost two late. 

Raoul sprang back and ran a hand through his hair as the two young women passed without noticing him and Hakuin in the shadows.

“That was close,” he said. “Would you...like to come back to my room where we could have some privacy?”

“Really?” Hakuin said with a mischievous smile. “You’re not just going to make me suck you off and then leave like all the other nobles?”

Raoul laughed. “The summer is so much worse! You have to squat in the garden so you don’t get mud on your knees and return to the banquet advertising where you’ve been to everyone.”

Hakuin smiled. “Yes, I’d love to come back to your room.”

“Good,” said Raoul, kissing Hakuin once more and tucking his shirt back in. “Just ah--keep a little distance between us so it doesn’t look--”

“Believe me, I’ve been in Tortall long enough, I know the drill even if I don’t like it,” Hakuin said.

“It’s a little better in the city. At least there’s anonymity,” Raoul said. “Everyone in the palace is terrified to be seen.”

“You mean I would’ve had better luck outside of the palace?” Hakuin said, his eyes dancing. “Sorry Raoul I have to go, thanks for the tip,” he moved to walk away.

“Wait I didn’t mean it,” Raoul said playfully grabbing Hakuin’s arm. “The city is nothing compared to the palace.”

“Well,” said Hakuin, pretending to think hard. “The palace has you so. I guess I’ll stay for tonight.”

Raoul felt himself blushing and realized he was still holding on to Hakuin’s arm. More surprisingly, he didn’t want to let go. He knew that someone could come around the corner at any minute but the thought of being caught suddenly mattered less than the thought of letting go. 

_Get yourself together! You’re acting like a lovestruck maiden!_ he told himself, finally taking his hand off Hakuin. His heart was beating fast, but not from nerves, just from the excitement of finally being with Hakuin after pining over him for months. When he looked back, Hakuin was smiling at him.

“I’m glad we finally spoke. I was beginning to worry you didn’t actually fancy me.”

Raoul blushed again. “No it’s--it wasn’t--I was worried you wouldn’t reciprocate,” he said, though he knew that wasn’t the real reason.

Hakuin raised an eyebrow, smile still on his face.

“Ok, I was worried you wouldn’t be interested in me. Specifically,” Raoul said. Why? Why was he admitting all this? He wasn’t the type to be emotionally involved. Especially not when he would have to see Hakuin often. What if things didn’t go well? What if Hakuin grew bored? What if he did? His mind was racing in a way it hadn’t in some time, and he felt sweat start at his temples.

Then he felt a hand on his. “I’m interested,” Hakuin said, seriously this time. “Now come, let’s stop mooning over each other in public. I know how you all are concerned about that.”

Raoul smiled. “Follow me,” he said, regretting that he couldn’t hold Hakuin’s hand or parade him through the ball or dance with him. Never mind that Raoul hated balls and dancing. Or that the consequences would be enormous. For the first time in his life, he cared slightly less about the consequences and the rumors, and slightly more about the man in front of him.

He took a deep breath. He'd never felt this way about someone else before. His rational mind told him there may be trouble. But somehow, the rest of him didn't care.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! You can find me at nevertobecaught.tumblr.com


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